


This Is Where We Start Again

by EllisJay



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Maybe angst? I don't know I'm a bad judge of it, Reincarnation, as slips said look at your life look at your choices, because of Jaime Lannister and his awkward boner problem, centuries long slow burn, fix-it kinda, flashbacks to the past, i am damn it, look it hurt me too, non graphic mentions of masturbation, reliving of the courtyard scene, this had a 1k minimum, you don't have to judge me i am judging myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllisJay/pseuds/EllisJay
Summary: Brienne and Jaime had never met, but when they come together to work on a new project, they realize their connection may have been generations in the making.Or in which Jaime and Brienne meet, begin having flashbacks to their ancestors lives, and are forced to figure out where they went wrong before they can determine how to make it right.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 275
Kudos: 279
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. I Got Dreams Of You All Through My Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mare9548](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mare9548/gifts).



> Title and chapter titles are lyrics from "Come To Me" by Goo Goo Dolls.
> 
> Prompt was: After running into each other in the street, Brienne and Jaime start having dreams/flashes of their past life (essentially what happened in the show including s8 w minor changes.
> 
> Highly influenced by a line from Florence and the Machine: "Maybe I'll see you in another life, if this one wasn't enough."

“That concludes today’s session,” Brienne told the crowd gathered before her. “If you have any follow up questions or comments, feel free to send me an email. And thank you all for coming.”

  
Today’s lecture had gone well, she thought to herself as she idly began packing up her belongings, listening to the quiet murmur of her group as they began to disperse. Her paper on the Battle of Winterfell and its importance in Westerosi history was still fairly new, but had been well-received by the world of academia. It was her fourth year in a row speaking at the Westeros Historical Conference, but each year she found herself with lingering anxiety until halfway through the week. Looking out at the crowd of fellow professors, historians, museum curators, and amateur history buffs, all of them waiting to either be dazzled or enraged, never seemed to get any easier. 

  
She had just slid her laptop into its carrying case when the hairs on the back of her neck rose, a frisson of _something_ skittering down her spine a moment before a low male voice spoke out. “Excuse me, Dr. Tarth. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?”

  
She knew who it was before she turned. In a lecture hall full of stuffy academics and impassioned history nerds, only one person could have a voice like that. He had drawn her eye immediately at the start of her two hour talk, but had remained completely quiet as she spoke. She had been disappointed, actually. Whoever he was, the handsome man who had sprawled in the back row had taken copious amounts of notes, and smiled or smirked throughout her lecture. She had wanted him to ask questions, to see what he thought about what she had to say, perhaps even to challenge her on a point or two. And fine, she had wanted to hear his voice, to see if it had matched the rest of him. 

  
Now she had. 

  
Brienne had heard her title many times in her life, but she couldn’t think of a single instance when hearing it made her flush slightly, imagining what it would sound like growled against her skin. His voice was made for late night murmurs and she let herself indulge in the warm decadence of it for just a moment before she turned to look at him.

  
_Fuck_ was her only clear thought. She had recognized his beauty from 200 feet away, but seeing it up close was a completely different experience. Now she could see that his eyes were a dark green, topped with the sort of long lashes men always seemed to be born with. She could tell that his jaw was ridiculously sharp, and somehow only enhanced by the soft beard that covered it. His lips were full and pink, as was the flash of tongue she got as it swiped across his mouth. He was nearly her height, and like her was broad and long, though she rather thought the breadth of his shoulders, the taper of hips, and the long, muscled legs fit him much better. Standing before her in gray slacks and a white button up, he looked more like a product of her fantasies than anything else.

  
“Of course,” she said politely, forcing herself to keep her eyes locked on his after that quick flick down his body. She held out her hand, her company smile in place. “Brienne Tarth.”

  
He grinned, which made him even more offensively handsome, reaching out to clasp her hand in his. Gods. His hand was larger than hers, his fingers and palm calloused, and she told herself she was imagining the shock she felt when their skin touched. “Jaime Lannister,” he told her, all easy charm and reckless confidence. “I’m an admirer of your work. I haven’t ever been able to attend one of your lectures in person, but I’ve read all of your papers, some of them more than once. I understand now why your talks are so popular. You make the history come alive.”

  
Brienne felt herself blush, and cursed her fair skin soundly in her head despite the pleasure that coursed through her at his words. “I appreciate that very much,” she told him, trying to pretend that she wasn’t on fire from a combination of shy pleasure and helpless lust. “I’m glad to hear that the in-person talk didn’t disappoint.” He released her hand slowly, a smile still lingering on his lips as he lifted his hand to stroke across his beard. 

  
It did not help her blushing situation even a little bit.

  
“So,” she pressed on, desperate to move forward before she launched herself at the poor man and made an ass of herself. “What can I help you with, Mr. Lannister?” 

  
“Oh, call me Jaime, please. I was actually hoping I could schedule a meeting with you in the next few days, a consultation I suppose you could call it. Whenever and wherever is convenient for you, of course.”

  
Brienne’s brow furrowed. She was used to receiving emails from her lecture participants, but very rarely had she met with any of them in person once their lecture was over. “Pertaining to what?”

  
Jaime smiled at her again as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m a writer,” he said with a slight shrug. “Historical romance, primarily.” Her shock must have shown on her face because his grin absolutely exploded across his face, leaving her even more flustered than she had been. “Yeah, I get that look a lot when people find out what I do.”

  
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, wondering if her skin would ever not be this bright and brilliant red he apparently inspired in her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a romance novelist come to one of my talks, much less ask for a meeting. What in the world would you need me to consult on?”

  
“My new novel is centered around the legend of The Lady Knight and The Kingslayer, and you’re the expert on them. Despite my family connection to him, our information is a bit lacking, and I always try to immerse myself in the characters a bit in my attempt to do them justice. I’d love to pick your brain about them...their meeting and their relationship, why she was knighted by him, what happened during the Burning of King’s Landing.”

  
“You should know that I object very strongly to the term ‘Kingslayer’,” Brienne warned. “And as far as why The Lady Knight was granted knighthood, I will not participate in anything that hints at any sort of salaciousness or ulterior motives.”

  
“As I’ve said, I’ve read your papers,” Jaime said casually, seemingly unconcerned about the coolness that had overtaken her. “That’s one of the reasons I picked you to talk to. I want to write their story, Dr. Tarth, their real story, or as close to real as I can get. I’m not interested in rumors or speculation, though I imagine I will have to incorporate some. You seem to have a solid understanding of them, of both of them. I need to have the same if I’m going to make this work the way I want it to.”

  
“What other reasons?”

“Pardon?”

“You said ‘one of the reasons.’” she clarified. “What other reasons were there?”

Jaime held her gaze as he jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “I have to admit, I like the symmetry. I’m writing a story about the honorable Brienne of Tarth and her lover, the infamous Jaime Lannister. Our bloodline, our connection, hell even our names...it seemed too perfect to resist.” She continued to study him, a sense of unease warring with interest, though she couldn’t deny the humor in them meeting to discuss a story about their namesakes. “I promise you that I am not intending to write some smutty caricature of them,” he added, his voice low and intent, his words washing over her and curling into her lower belly. “All I ask is that you give me a chance. Meet with me, let me explain my vision and what I already know, and then you can decide from there.”

  
Brienne mulled it over for a moment, then inhaled deeply through her nose. “Fine,” she said. “What is your schedule like?”

  
“For you? Wide open.” He grinned at her again, and she wished there was a polite way to ask him to stop as it did not help her equilibrium at all.

  
“I have talks the next two days, but I should be free Thursday as long as it is after 12.”

  
“12:01 sounds perfect,” he said, chuckling a little.

  
“I was thinking more like 1,” she countered, letting a hint of smile through. “My office?”

  
“Whatever you want,” he agreed. “Where do I find it?”

  
“I’m on the third floor. Take a left out the elevator, then my office is the 4th door on the left. You can’t miss it.”

  
“Thursday at one, your office,” Jaime repeated, smiling again. “Thank you, Dr. Tarth. I look forward to seeing you then.” He held out his hand, and she shook it, irritated when she still felt the jolt of energy at the contact. It was his brow that furrowed this time, his eyes roving over her face before he slowly let her hand go. “I’ll see you in three days.”

  
“Goodbye Jaime.”

  
He took a step back, still looking at her intently with that curious expression on his face, but he nodded. “Goodbye Dr. Tarth.” 

  
  
  
  
  


When Brienne got back to her apartment that evening, she immediately sat down to research Jaime Lannister. Within fifteen minutes, she was baffled that she had never heard of him. Romance novels might not have been as in her wheelhouse as historical texts, but it seemed as if a majority of his books revolved around couples that had existed during the period of history she was an expert on. Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand, Catelyn and Ned Stark, even one on Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon, though she irritably noted that one was based on sheer speculation. He had some that went further back of course...Ser Duncan the Tall and Lady Rohanne Webber being a popular one, but for the most part he seemed to focus on the couples that existed during Robert’s Rebellion and afterwards.

  
From the interviews she read, she gathered that he was considered a diligent researcher, which she approved of, and an unapologetic romantic, which she was suspicious of. He had published his first novel at the age of 27, and then nothing else until he quit the family law firm three years later to focus on writing full time. He was very close to his brother, spoke little of his family, but at the age of 42 had never been married despite his mile-wide streak of romanticism. 

  
His books were well received, and he apparently took his job seriously, but none of that was necessarily pertinent to Brienne for her meeting with him. If anyone had asked, she would have insisted she just wanted to know that she would be consulting for a person who would take care with the project. 

  
But also...well, she wanted to know more about the man who had sat in the back of her lecture hall, all of his attention focused on her. The man who had grinned so easily at her while looking like a walking fantasy, complimenting her brain. The man whose slight touch of hand had sent a jolt through her body, and then studied her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. Surely there was no harm in that. She would meet with Jaime Lannister once or twice, and then most likely not see him again, and that would be fine. Actually, it would probably be for the best.

  
Brienne liked her life the way it was at the moment. It was structured and steadied, focused on the path she had chosen so many years ago, and very fulfilling. She was considered an expert in her field, she was popular among her students, and the tourney she threw at the end of each academic year brought in many donors to the school, specifically for her department. She was close enough to Tarth to visit her father frequently, had cultivated a few close friendships, and had avoided having her heart shattered, which she felt was quite the achievement at the age of 35.

  
In truth, her father and friends had often lamented her refusal to become involved with anyone romantically, but she was content with her life. She had helped her friends weather the storms of heartache, had seen how the grief had ravaged them at times, and had very little interest in experiencing it for herself. It was better to focus on her own path, to lose herself in academia rather than love. More lonely perhaps, but infinitely safer. 

  
So she didn’t need to spend too much time thinking about someone like Jaime Lannister no matter how much her fingers itched to touch his beard, or how often that little pink flash of tongue had replayed itself in her mind during the day. Men like Jaime Lannister were nothing but trouble, she was sure, and if there was one thing Brienne did not have time for, it was the trouble a man would bring into her life.

  
With that thought, she resolutely closed her tab on that particular problem, and instead began compiling some basic notes on Ser Brienne of Tarth, the first female knight in Westeros, and Ser Jaime Lannister, the infamous Kingslayer. Though she was fairly confident she knew essentially everything there was to know about the two, it was always good to go into a meeting with the information fresh in mind. There was plenty of information on each knight available to the public, but some wouldn’t be as well known unless you were a very avid fan of history. Unfortunately, there wasn’t as much known about their relationship with each other so Brienne knew that at some point in his novel, Jaime’s speculation would take him where their combined research could not. She was fine with that. Just as fine as she was with not seeing him again after her consultation was finished.

  
By the time Brienne stopped taking notes, scarfed down a hastily thrown together burrito bowl, and turned in for the night, she was confident that she was prepared for their meeting, and over her inane fascination with Jaime Lannister’s beard.

  
_She had felt fear before, but she couldn’t remember a time in her life that it had been so visceral, so acute. It thickened her tongue and weighed heavy on her chest, but she forced herself to take a deep breath, circling in the dirt as she stared at the snarling, massive bear in front of her. The stench of the animal filled her nostrils, the jeers and singing of the men above filled her ears, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the bear, the wooden sword held out in defense, the horrid pink dress tangling in her feet. Her left shoulder burned horribly, her skin ripped and raw, her blood thick and hot where it was smeared. She knew with a cold certainty that she would die here, down in this pit, devoured by the claws and teeth of the animal before her, all for the amusement of the animals above. But she would not die on her knees or weeping. She was no knight, but she would die as one, with a weapon in hand and courage in her heart._

_Suddenly the bear rose on his hind legs, towering over her, and desperate, she jabbed out with the wooden sword, everything inside her freezing as the bear batted it down with one huge paw, using the other to swipe at her, splitting more skin and fabric. She stumbled back, despairing at the loss of her weapon, such as it was, only to go sprawling when the bear batted at her head and neck, lumbering forward, roaring at her where she laid upon the ground. She let herself take one trembling breath, trying to make peace with her wasted life, and had a moment to offer up a prayer that Ser Jaime would find the Stark girls and uphold their oath. The bear shambled forward, mouth open in a roar, and then her head was spinning to look behind her at the sound of something heavy landing in the dirt._

  
_Ser Jaime was somehow right there, still battered and gaunt, but his eyes determined and focused as if he hadn’t foolishly just leapt into a bear pit with one hand and no weapon. As the bear turned, trying to make sense of this new foe, he moved quickly forward, stooping to help her to her feet. “Get behind me,” he ordered._

  
_“I will not,” she started to say, but he simply tugged her to feet, and placed himself in front of her, facing the bear who was now preparing to rush them. The bloody fool! she thought angrily. Now instead of one meal, the bear was set to have two, and what would happen to the Stark girls then? Nobody else would bother trying to save them. She had been counting on Ser Jaime to uphold their vow, and instead he was about to die with her, ripped to shreds by a wild animal._

  
_They backed up in unison as the bear began its approach, their feet moving lightly and quickly, taking them to the wall encasing them. The bear swiped at the ground, furious, and then suddenly a bolt appeared in its side, shot from a man up above. She vaguely registered Locke yelling in indignation as the bear twisted, trying to reach the arrow buried in its body, and then Ser Jaime was rushing to the wall, yelling, “Pull her up!” to the crowd above. She followed quickly, unsure of what would be awaiting her up top, but knew that it would be preferable to the bear. Still watching the bear uneasily, Ser Jaime bent at the waist, and she quickly climbed onto his back, suddenly thankful for her long arms that could reach up and be grasped easily. The men lifted her easily despite her heavy frame, and she scrambled onto the platform, desperate._

  
_“Hold my legs!” she ordered, spinning around and lying flat on her belly, trusting them to hold her while she reached down for Ser Jaime. Her chest screamed at her in agony, but it was nothing compared to the blind fear that was coursing through her as the bear gathered itself and began to lumber forward. She watched, fighting back terror, as Jaime launched himself upward, scrabbling for purchase and using the strength born of desperation to climb one handed as the bear reared up behind him, his feet mere feet away from the bear’s roaring mouth. Gasping for air, he threw himself to the side, somehow trusting that their hands would meet, and that she would hold on._

  
_She felt a shudder of relief at the clasp of his palm against hers, but simply yelled, “Pull him up!” and began to ease backwards, grateful for once that she was no simpering maiden but rather broad and strong and capable of bearing his weight. He sprawled onto the platform, and she rose to her feet, watching as a man stepped forward, sneer in place._

  
_“The bitch stays,” he said, looking down at the one handed man, his own hand dropping to lift his ax up slightly, and she felt herself step forward, prepared to defend them both if necessary._

  
_“I’m taking her to King’s Landing,” Ser Jaime said, getting to his feet. “Unless you kill me.”_

  
_The men facing them shuffled forward, showing their clear willingness to do just that, and the pale faced man stepped forward as well, angling his chin upward to glare at Ser Jaime. “She belongs to me. Lord Bolton’s orders.”_

  
_“What do you think is more important to Lord Bolton? Giving his pet rat a reward, or ensuring Tywin Lannister gets his son back alive?”_

  
_The two men glared at each other for a moment, and she felt the tension rising as the men gathered around her casually placed their hands on their sword hilts. They were one wrong move away from an all out battle, and she cursed her ridiculous pink dress and lack of a weapon for the hundredth time that day._

  
_The sound of the man’s ax dropping back into its case seemed very loud in her ears, louder even than the continued growls from the bear. He and Ser Jaime stared at each other for a moment, but she could sense the shift of power, could feel Ser Jaime asserting his dominance with his confident air and steady lack of fear. “Well,” he said, glancing back at her. “Must be on our way.” She gave him a slight nod, more than eager to leave, and watched as he leaned into the shorter man, his lips tugging upward in a cocky smirk. “Sorry about the sapphires,” he quipped, and then strode off as if he didn’t have a concern in the world. She followed him, chin held high, not even pausing as she turned her head to look down on the weak little man in front of her._

  
_Relief and confusion swamped her body, even drowning out the pain in her shoulder momentarily, as she followed Ser Jaime through the crowd gathered around. She would have thought he would be halfway back to King’s Landing by now, desperate to return to his family and his sister, but instead he had returned for her, and then leapt into a bearpit without a weapon and short one hand. She didn’t understand why, but she did understand one thing:_

  
_For once she had been the maiden in the story, and she had been rescued by the most handsome knight in the realm, regardless of how tarnished and battered his honor was. She would not forget this moment._

  
  
Brienne lurched upwards with a gasp, drenched with sweat and her heart hammering. She pressed a hand to her chest, her fingers pulling at her tee shirt, stroking across her smooth skin, looking for a wound. She could still smell the bear as if it were in the room with her, could still feel the burning ache on her shoulder and neck where its claws had ripped away at her, could still see the one handed knight, bracing himself in front of her, protecting her.

  
  


“What the fuck was that?”


	2. Come To Me With Secrets Bare

Jaime was waiting outside of Dr. Tarth’s office at 12:53 on Thursday, binder in hand, and smile firmly in place. This meeting may have only been officially planned for two days, but it had been brewing in his head for far longer. The day he had decided to write the love story of The Kingslayer and The Lady Knight, thirteen months before, he had also decided he had to meet Dr. Brienne Tarth.

He had told her the truth...the connection was simply irresistible. Writing about his ancestor and hers, with input from her, was too good to pass up, but that was only a piece of the puzzle. She had fascinated him since he had read her first paper on Whispering Wood and its impact on The War of the Five Kings. Her grasp on history was unparalleled, her writing style both thought-provoking and engaging, and as he had told her two days prior, she had the ability to make the history come alive for her audience. He had been sold on his idea before sitting in on that lecture, but it had only solidified it for him.

He wanted her to write the book with him. Not just consult on it, not just give him a few opinions or direct him to primary sources, but to actually collaborate on the novel, to plot it out and define its direction. He had never worked with anyone else before, not in this manner, but it just felt right. He was fairly certain that Dr. Brienne Tarth was the most interesting woman in Westeros, and he wanted to work with her, to call her a colleague, perhaps even a friend.

If he was being completely honest, he wouldn’t mind calling her more than that. He could admit to himself that he had been mesmerized by her eyes from the pictures he had seen, big and impossibly blue. They somehow soothed a knot in his chest that he hadn’t even realized he had been carrying his entire life. But seeing her in person had been a complete kick in the ass. He rarely came across a woman as tall as him, and yet Dr. Brienne Tarth stood an inch or so taller, with the ridiculously appealing legs that her height demanded. The rest of her was just so much to take in...long and broad and covered in muscles that Jaime dearly wanted to set his teeth into. She had moved around at the front of the lecture hall with grace and strength, her voice deep and strong, and it had felt like every cell in his body had woken up.

He had never reacted to a woman so strongly, nor so viscerally. Something raw and primitive had moved within him when he had shaken her hand as they said goodbye at the end of their brief meeting, and he had been struck by the urge to pull her close, to press her body against his, to bury his face into the long line of her neck and find respite there. Not just for pleasure, though he was certain he would find that as well, but for peace. Something about her called out to him, made him less weary, and full of hope. The urge to stay with her, to stretch out their meeting, had been strong, but foolish, and he had left her behind with his mind scrambling to make sense of his tangled emotions.

He hadn’t made any progress on that front, but he had been able to put his feelings aside and work on some basic notes for his book. Jaime rarely gave a damn about impressing anyone, not anymore, but he badly wanted Dr. Tarth’s approval, as well as her input. He had absolutely no desire to meet with her once or twice, and then never see her again. The idea of it was inconceivable.

Taking a quick breath and running a hand over his hair, Jaime rapped twice on her office door, and waited until her low voice called out for him to come in. “Dr. Tarth,” he said warmly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I trust the rest of your talks went well?” He held out his hand to shake, his breath catching slightly as she rose from behind her desk, her long body unfurling before him. She looked so tidy in her black slacks and blue button up, her blonde hair pulled back into a bun, and he desperately wanted to put his hands on her, and muss her up just a bit.

“Mr. Lannister,” she returned politely, reaching out to give his hand a firm shake. He searched her face as she did so, wondering if she felt that same jolt of awareness, but other than a light pink blush, her face was impassive. “They did, thank you. Please have a seat.”

Jaime sat down at her gesture, still smiling a little. “I really do appreciate you meeting with me like this, Dr. Tarth. I know you must have a full schedule.”

“I do,” she nodded, though her voice was kind. “But I’m always happy to help where I can, Mr. Lannister. I’m not quite sure what I can tell you, exactly, but I will do what I can. After all, I can’t have you doing our ancestors an injustice.” He liked her smile, as mild as it was. It took some of the sting out of her words.

“Jaime, please,” he insisted. 

“Of course,” she relented. “Now, why don’t you tell me what it is exactly that you are looking for from me?”

Oh what a loaded question that is, Jaime thought, biting back a smile. “Several things, I suppose,” he said instead. “I’d like your input on my notes, for one. I have a basic timeline written out, and would appreciate you confirming some of the dates I have listed. I’ve divided my notes into timeline, facts, speculation, as well as sections on each of them individually. I want this to be a story about their individual journey, but highlighting the way they impacted each other, the way life conspired to keep them apart, but also brought them back together.”

“Is that the theme of your story, then? The path they took that led to each other?”

“In a way, I suppose so,” he nodded. “I believe that from the moment Ser Jaime met Lady Brienne, the entire course of his life was changed because he was changed. There is a marked difference in his actions before and after his capture by the Stark forces, the way he conducted himself, his military strategies. That kind of change doesn’t just happen by chance.”

“It could be argued that his change was due to the loss of his primary hand,” Dr. Tarth said, her eyes steady on his face. “That by losing such a pivotal part of himself he was forced to re-evaluate and adjust to his new normal.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that,” Jaime replied, already enjoying himself very much. Few people wanted to ever discuss history in detail with him, or bandy opinions back and forth. He should have arranged this meeting months ago. “But even that was tied to the Lady since he lost his hand on their journey back to King’s Landing. And as we both know, the predominant theory is that he lost it in defense of her.”

“Does Ser Brienne strike you as the type of person who needs defending?” Her brow arched upward slightly, and he tracked its movement with his eyes. 

“We all need defending sometimes,” he said softly. “Ser Brienne was a force of nature to be sure. Everything I’ve read on her corroborates that. But she wasn’t a machine, wasn’t less human, or less woman. I don’t think it seems particularly out of reach to think she needed protection at some point, or that Ser Jaime was capable of saving her, even at the cost of his hand.”

Her brows drew together now, and he tilted his head as emotions flickered briefly over her face before smoothing out. He wondered what was going on behind those lovely eyes, what thoughts she had that made her look distinctly uncomfortable before she batted them back. The idea of Ser Brienne not being an infallible warrior? The idea of a woman needing help from a man, a man she had by all accounts detested at the beginning of their relationship? He couldn’t see that from her, not after reading her paper on Ser Brienne of Tarth, the way she had handled her ancestor with care and great respect for all aspects of her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied promptly. “How about you let me look over your notes, and I can see what it is you know about the two of them?”

He studied her another moment, eyes moving over her face, but silently held out the binder to her. He wished he had an excuse to touch her again, to let his fingers drag across hers, but he settled for smiling at her as she took it out of his hand. She immediately opened it on her desk, then casually plucked out a pair of black framed glasses and slid them on, already intent on the work in front of her. He felt a curl of heavy heat settle in his belly, and bit his lip to hold a whimper in. 

He kept his eyes on her as her brow crinkled and her mouth pursed, her expression so serious that it brought a helpless smile to his face. He could make no sense of how he felt just being in her presence. For as much as Jaime was a romantic, the only times he had fallen in love had been with his characters. Writing them, telling their story, it made it easy to get lost in their feelings, to let himself feel that love so that it could pour out onto the page. In real life, however, Jaime had never even made it to a strong like for a woman, much less to helplessly in love.

And he wanted that, of course he did. The first twenty-five years of his life had been filled with so much pressure, so many demands, none of which he wanted to live up to. He had been groomed and shaped from birth to be a replica of his father- cold, calculating, and ruthless, but no matter how many times his father and later his sister tried to shove him into that box, there had always been a part of Jaime that had stubbornly refused to go. He had gone to the right school, gotten the right grades, dated the right women, and it had all felt so very wrong. Every morning when he woke up, he felt like he slipped into a role that he had been forced to play, and every day it had chafed a little bit more. Just an endless cycle of meetings and clients and contracts and mediations, with business parties and fancy dinners peppered in to break up the monotony. The only true pleasure he ever found was when he was with his younger brother, or when he would sit in his bed, laptop perched on his lap, and pick away at the stories he had begun to envision.

He had always loved history more than any other subject, and if it had been left to him, he would have gladly pursued a degree in it. But it hadn’t been up to him, just like the rest of his life for so many years hadn’t been up to him. Publishing his first novel on the unlikely but steady love that had built the Stark family all those years ago had been the first brave thing he had ever done, the first thing that had ever been just for him. His father and sister had been furious at him, horrified that he would embarrass the family name and the firm with something as tawdry as historical romantic fiction. Even now, remembering their reactions brought a heaviness to Jaime’s frame, a small sense of shame that he couldn’t quite beat all the way down. It had been an incessant onslaught of disdain and mockery for nearly a year, and he had endured it all, regardless of how small it made him feel.

He had thrown himself into the family business after that, working more hours, staying later and later, cancelling dates, securing clients. If he had thought his life was a slog before his novel had been published, it was nothing to what he had put himself through afterwards, still desperately seeking their approval. In the end, those three years had cost him twenty pounds, an ulcer, recurring migraines, and a bout of depression so bad that at one point he had found himself stopping at a bridge on a late night walk and contemplating if he could finally find peace if he simply stepped off. The thought alone had terrified himself so much that he had hurried back home, called his brother, and then immediately written his resignation letter.

He had turned it in the next morning, and hadn’t looked back since.

Jaime was looking forward now. His books had brought him monetary stability that he didn’t need, and peace that he sorely did, but his book on the original Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth meant more to him than even that. He had been drawn to his namesake from the early days of his childhood, and had been fascinated by the story of his relationship with Ser Brienne from the moment he first learned of it in school. He had researched them for his own pleasure in his spare time, memorizing Ser Jaime’s passage in The White Book, reading letters from Ser Brienne to her friend Ser Podrick. He wondered now if he had been heading this way all along, and simply hadn’t realized it. 

“You have here that you think their time at Harrenahal was a pivotal moment in their relationship,” Brienne spoke suddenly, jarring Jaime from his thoughts. He forced himself to focus again, the tension easing out of his body when he found her blue eyes studying him. He didn’t know what it was about her calm and inquisitive gaze, but each time she turned it on him, he felt like he could breathe more easily. “Why is that?”

“There is a letter from a Maester who was there at the same time, addressed to the Citadel, though it was likely never sent. He was detailing his treatment of Ser Jaime’s amputation when they were brought there by Bolton forces, specifically for corruption. Seemed very impressed with himself, though I imagine most Maesters have the same smug and self-satisfied tone when they detail their genius.” She continued to watch him, waiting for him to get to the point, so he did. “In the letter, he mentioned that he continued to treat Ser Jaime’s wounds in King Landing, and that the availability of better quality medications had been delayed when the knight insisted on returning for his female companion.”

“I’ve never seen nor heard of such a letter.”

“I said my family history was lacking, not that it was bare. We do have a small collection of items from the time of Robert’s Rebellion, which thankfully was turned over to me after I finished law school. Letters, books, a few small pieces of jewelry...there isn’t much, but it has been useful. Many of the big historical moments are public knowledge, but I have included some of the lesser known details that I’ve gathered from what my family has. You’ll see as you read.”

“So if the Maester is to be believed, and I don’t see why he would lie about something so unimportant, Ser Jaime left Lady Brienne in Harrenhal with the Boltons, but returned for her, and brought her back to King’s Landing.”

“That’s correct,” Jaime nodded. “My research on Harrenhal and the Boltons, and I’m sure yours as well, tells me that was probably the correct thing to do.”

“The Boltons were particularly vicious,” Brienne agreed, dropping her eyes back to the folder in front of her. “The servants recounting their invasion and hold on Winterfell were quite difficult to read.”

“Well yes,” Jaime agreed. “And the bear pit they used for sport in Harrenhal.”

Brienne’s head shot up so quickly that it startled Jaime, her eyes wide and surprised. “Bear pit?” 

“In other papers we found that belonged to the Maester, he wrote of his time at Harrenhal. Apparently Bolton’s men were known for putting prisoners in the bear pit, making them face the animal without even a weapon to defend themselves. He seemed disappointed that he wasn’t able to...examine their bodies and wounds more closely.”

Brienne’s hand lifted from the desk to press against her clavicle, her fingers sliding and pressing against the material of her shirt. “I hadn’t heard that,” she said faintly, and he felt his brow furrow at her tone, at the way her cheeks paled and her eyes gleamed. “Tell me, Jaime, did the Maester name any of the prisoners? Were any ladies subjected to that?”

“As far as I can tell, the only lady who was ever held prisoner by the Boltons, at least during his time there, was the Lady Brienne. She and Ser Jaime were both held there briefly while he healed up and ransom was sought for Lady Brienne, and then parted ways, though as I said he returned for her almost immediately.” He tilted his head, trying to make sense of her expression. “Why do you ask, Dr. Tarth?”

She didn’t answer, but instead sucked her bottom lip into her mouth again. “Do you know if Lady Brienne was ever put into the bear pit?”

Jaime couldn’t quite make sense of her expression or her tone, nor the way she steadily dug her fingers into her collarbone. “I haven’t seen any mention of that,” he said slowly, trying to puzzle her out. “But I suppose it would be possible. It would explain why Ser Jaime was in such a hurry to return to her.” He let the idea percolate in his mind a little, finding it more possible and appealing for his story as he did so. “Perhaps that is why they grew closer. The Boltons had her thrown in to face down a bear, and Ser Jaime came galloping back to the rescue.”

“That seems unlikely,” she said, her voice still a little hollowed out. “Especially when you consider the extent of his injuries, and the nature of their relationship at that point.”

“Unlikely, perhaps, but still possible. Something happened in Harrenhal, of that I am certain. They were enemies when they left the Stark camp, but sometime between their meeting and their arrival at King’s Landing, that had shifted. Perhaps they weren’t friends yet, or even allies in a military sense, but I think they found themselves working together to get back to the capital. The Maester mentions how adamant Ser Jaime was at returning for her, so it only makes sense that the shift happened sometime during their stay in Harrenhal, wouldn’t you say?”

“That’s still quite a stretch to him rescuing her from a bear,” her voice was firmer now, and he watched her slowly lower her hand. “I would be interested in seeing whatever notes or other papers you have from your family collection, if that would be acceptable to you. Perhaps there is more for me to learn about them. It seems there must be.”

“I’d be more than happy to share all of my family collection with you,” Jaime told her honestly. “Anytime you’re free, you’re welcome to come and take a look.”

She smiled a little then, just a small pull of her lips, but even that was enough to clear away the confusion and discomfort that had settled on her face as she glanced back down at his notes. He continued to mull the idea of having Lady Brienne thrown into a bear pit before Ser Jaime came back to rescue her, while simultaneously studying the woman before him. She had looked so disturbed by the idea of the bear pit, but he hoped he could convince her that it was at least a plausible explanation for why Ser Jaime returned, and perhaps why their relationship had shifted into something heading towards friendship. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. It would highlight that while Lady Brienne was a fierce warrior, she was also human and a woman, and that there had been times when she had needed help. He didn’t like his characters to be infallible. Infallible people didn’t have interesting love stories.

The light from her window cut across Dr. Tarth’s face, causing her hair and skin to be illuminated by the sunshine, dipping part of her shoulders in shadow. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden, as if he had been shoved backward in his chair, sending his body reeling. Nausea crept over him, making his belly roll and that cold, clammy dampness settle over his skin. Alarmed, he gripped the arms of his chair, trying to ground himself as he shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. He did not want to throw up all over this woman’s desk. She was already hard enough to get to know without adding vomit to the mix.

“Mr. Lannister?” he heard her voice as if from far away, like they were at opposite ends of a tunnel. “Jaime, are you okay?” 

Jaime swallowed hard, trying to regain control, and forced his eyes open. Dr. Tarth swam in front of him, images flooding him in flashes, like she was a flickering picture on a television with bad reception. He could see her, in her practical slacks and shirt and glasses, but then in the next moment, she was different...younger, broader in build and coarser of face, her hair chopped short, her bare body curled into itself while her eyes bore into his. Back and forth, back and forth, the images fighting for dominance in his mind. Fear swamped Jaime’s body, tangling with indignation and shame and righteousness until he felt dizzy with it.

“Jaime!” he vaguely heard Dr. Tarth snap again, and she was rising from her desk but in his mind he could see her, angry and naked, bare before him, her own righteous rage pulsing out of her. 

“Burn them all. Burn them all.” The words were so clear in his head that they almost tumbled from his lips, but he bit them back, stumbling to his feet with the sudden urge to break free from whatever had come over him. The room swam around him, her office disappearing as candles and steam seemed to swirl in its place.

“Excuse me, Dr. Tarth,” he choked out, swaying a bit as he tried to adjust. “I’m suddenly not feeling very well.”

She came around the desk, her hands reaching out to grab his elbows, holding him steady when he pitched forward on his feet, stumbling into her. Her body was strong enough to hold him, to ground him to the moment, but her hands were so gentle that he had the urge to weep. “Jaime, just sit for a moment, okay? Take deep breaths. Do you need anything? Water? A cool rag?”

Her voice was gentle in his ear but in his head all he heard was a different voice, younger and harsher, crying out “Come help! The Kingslayer!” 

Unable to bear it any longer, Jaime wrenched away from her, fell to his knees, and promptly threw up in her trash can. 


	3. That's The Day You Came To Me

Brienne’s mind was still whirring as she walked to Jaime’s apartment two days later for their hastily scheduled meeting. He had fled her office, leaving his binder behind on her desk, his face white, skin clammy, and eyes wild. She had never seen anyone lose color so quickly, every bit of it draining from his face as he swayed in front of her. He had apologized profusely for getting sick, for throwing up in her office, and she had brushed it away, more concerned than she wanted to show. She had offered him a chair, a ride home, a glass of water, but he had brushed all of it aside, scribbled down his number, and asked her to send him a message when she finished reviewing his notes before rushing from the room.

She had spent the rest of the afternoon alternately reading over the information he had compiled, and worrying about Jaime. Everything about the meeting had deeply unsettled her, and Brienne was not a woman who enjoyed feeling unsettled. The revelation that the Boltons had a bear pit still left her off balance now, especially since the details of the dream she had had the night of their first meeting hadn’t faded at all, nor was it an isolated occurrence.

The night he had rushed from her office, she had another dream. Just as vivid, but even more unsettling than the first. She had been in the same powerfully built body as the first dream, but this time completely nude and without the angry red gashes the bear had left behind. The bath she had sat in was the size of a small pool, and even though she had no context, she had reveled in the feeling of the scalding hot water and the scrape of rough soap against her skin. She felt dirty all the way down to her bones, and relief in methodically stripping that away.

And then he was there, Jaime Lannister, but not the one that had thrown up his breakfast in her trash can, and then ran away as if he were being chased. This Jaime was thinner, his muscles worn away, his hair long and disheveled, knotted and dirty as it flopped over his eyes, a sneer on his mouth. There had been dirty bandages wrapped around his right wrist, and he had held it aloft and moved towards her gingerly, joining her in the tub, his voice snide and grating, his words sending a bolt of rage through her body.

But then there was a shift, and Brienne could still feel that slow but steady drain of rage from her body even now as she walked to meet the man. The Jaime in her dream had sunk into the water, head tilted forward so his face was shadowed, and spilled out the truth behind his worst and greatest deed. Kingslayer. Wildfire. Burn them all. Brienne had sat in the tub, realization slowly dawning, and watched the broken man before her as he broke himself open even more. The transition from rage to disgust to horror to an aching sympathy had filled her, simply welling up inside her until it had permeated every nook and cranny of her body.

No longer The Kingslayer, but Ser Jaime. Not an oathbreaker, but one who had thrown away his glory to do the right thing.

In the dream he had begun to rant and rave, lost in his fever, and stumbled forward into her arms, much as the real Jaime had done in her office. And just as in her office, her dream self had caught him, carrying his weight easily, ignoring his skin, bare and wet, sliding against hers. She had called for help, her voice echoing in the cavernous room, as he whispered his name to her. _Jaime. My name is Jaime._ Brienne had startled awake, her heart racing, her skin slick, and her arms frustratingly empty. The fear, the compassion, the confusion all lingered in her skin, so vivid and real that she found herself looking around the room as if Jaime had really been there, whispering his secrets to her in the dark.

She had gone to work, still shaken, but determined to put it behind her. If it had embarrassed her to only make it until lunchtime before she broke down and sent Jaime a text message, well nobody had to know that but her. He had assured her that he was fine, apologized again, and asked her to meet him the following day to finish their discussion. She was glad for the extra time...there was no way she was ready to see him after seeing some knightly version of him in her dreams. 

Everything about Jaime Lannister was unsettling, and had been from the moment he stood before her in the lecture hall and introduced himself. A man who looked like that was designed to put a woman on edge, but she had thought herself immune from that. She had dated in the past, extremely casually, and had taken a handful of lovers, but all on her terms, within the parameters she designed. None of them had unsettled her. She had never felt her body come alive with awareness just from another person’s presence, never felt that magnetic pull that urged her to lean in, to see more. When she was in the same room with Jaime Lannister, it felt like every molecule of air in the room was filled with him, like every cell in her body was connected to his.

It was not a feeling that Brienne cared for.

She loved the quiet, steady life she had built around her career. She enjoyed her friends and her colleagues, her students and her research. She had a full life full of all the things she enjoyed, and one that remained blissfully quiet without the messy chaos that seemed to come hand-in-hand with romance. She enjoyed the men she chose to enjoy, and was always able to walk away with her head held high and her heart intact. Which was just how she preferred it.

So she deeply resented Jaime Lannister for making her question that for even a single second.

It had been bad enough when he had been the sharp-smiled handsome man who had a passion for history that possibly rivaled hers. His very presence was enough to throw her equilibrium off, and when coupled with his obvious passion for her subject, the thought he put into the historical characters he chose to write about, it became an especially targeted attack on her. All of that had been bad enough. Now that she was having these _dreams_ of him, or of the ancestor he was named after, it became almost impossible to not think about him constantly.

Brienne had dreamed of him again the night before, and though it was a less dramatic dream than her previous two, it had shaken her significantly more. She had been wearing boiled leather and mailed sleeves, and seated at a long table in a large room full of people, the taste of wine thick on her tongue. Her body had ached in several places, her muscles stretched out and sore, but she had been filled with such an intense joy, a feeling that felt foreign both in her dream and in her waking self. A young man had sat at her side, pressed close to her, but she had been unable to take her eyes away from the man in front of her. Jaime, but not the bedraggled and sickly looking man in her previous dreams, but a Jaime more closely aligned to the one she had seen the day before, shaggy haired and bearded and graying. In her first dream, Jaime had looked grim but determined. In the second, fevered and agonized. In this one...in this one, Jaime had simply glowed.

He had been looking at her with eyes that were soft and bright, alight with the same joy she was feeling. His grin had stretched across his face, pulling lines at the corners of his lips and eyes, and her fingers had twitched, wanting to lift towards him and press against them, to trace the grooves with the pads of her fingers, to feel his joy seep into her. She hadn’t known he could look like that, much less aim that look at her, but it had ignited within her, as if witnessing his simple pleasure in the moment only amplified hers. Laughter had rung out around them, a celebration just beginning to make the turn towards rowdy, but she had only been able to sit there and bask in that moment when she knew with absolute certainty that she loved Jaime Lannister with everything inside of her, and if his eyes and smile were to be believed, that he loved her back.

She had awoken with tears drying on her cheeks, and her bed so empty that she had to shut her eyes against the image. She had made her peace with who she was and what her life held, finally able to feel contentment in it, but the sheer joy and intimacy of the dream had ripped through her, and left her unable to do anything but acknowledge the loneliness she was able to lock away during the day. She had never been in love, no, but in that moment she had felt it so deeply that it felt as if her bones were being reminded of what they were shaped for, as if every cell in her body was quietly insisting that they had been woven together for the sole purpose of loving the man before her. She had cried a little in her pillow, confused and tired and so awfully alone.

Brienne had finally fallen back into a fitful sleep, but had found no peace nor clarity in the thin morning light. She simply didn’t understand what was happening, why she was being plagued this way, but neither could she deny that it was a coincidence. One dream, sure, especially in light of her deep dive into the mythology of Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne, but _three_? Three nights in a row? And none of her dreams made sense to her. They weren’t stories she had read, or theories she had explored, where at least she could blame her subconscious for building them up. These were completely unrelated experiences, with no factual or historical background, and by far the most vivid, visceral dreams she had ever had. She had never before woken up with sights and scents and textures still clinging to her. She had never experienced fear or anger or joy quite as acutely.

There was a tiny part of her, fueled no doubt by her furious Raven searches at three am, that wondered if she was somehow seeing the story of the two knights in question. It hadn’t taken long for her to stumble across articles about soul-memories, soul bonds, and even nocturnal possessions. It was all ridiculous, of course. Souls didn’t bond and even if they did, they wouldn’t stay bonded over lifetimes. And souls definitely didn’t have memories...brains did, and the hippocampus only stored memories that were made in its lifetime. Out of all three options, she honestly preferred nocturnal possession. A ghost and a haunting may be terrifying, but it didn’t have near the implications that the other two held. 

She wanted to broach the subject with Jaime, scientifically, but hadn’t yet landed on a way to drop it into casual conversation. She couldn’t very well sit down to discuss his notes and tentative outline, and just ask him if he had had any frighteningly vivid dreams where he saved her from a bear, told her his secrets, and poured his love for her out onto the table in the shape of his smile. Even imagining it made her laugh, honestly. She wondered if he would still want her expert opinion then, if he knew she was even contemplating ghostly possession and reincarnation and soul memories. She couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around it, it was so out of character, but everything about this was out of character. Nothing had been quiet or stable or normal since Jaime Lannister had smiled at her in her lecture hall.

Over the past two days, Brienne had spent hours going through every scrap of material she could find on Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne. Every mention in an article, every half-assed theory, every baseless speculation. One of the perks of her job was the access it gave her for research, and she utilized it during every spare moment she had. There was a lot to be found about them, but so much of it was opinion rather than fact-based, driven on by people’s need for romance and a good story. There seemed to be few things that were undeniable fact.

Ser Jaime had been captured by the Stark forces at Whispering Wood, and then later released by Lady Catelyn to be escorted to King’s Landing by Lady Brienne of Tarth, a powerful chess piece being offered for the return of the Stark girls, fact. Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne had been captured by Bolton forces somewhere near Harrenhal, and something happened to cause the amputation of the knight’s sword hand, fact. They were both briefly held at Harrenhal before being released on Lord Roose Bolton’s orders, though Jaime had offered some doubt about the particulars of that one, fact. Ser Jaime gifted Lady Brienne with a Valyerian sword, and she had left the capital in pursuit of Sansa Stark, fact. They had met up three times after they parted ways in King’s Landing, once during the Siege of Riverrun, where Lady Brienne was given permission to enter the castle, again at the Dragon Pit Summit, standing in for Lady Sansa, and finally at Winterfell, when Ser Jaime had joined his enemies during the Long Night. 

There was no mention of a bear that had ripped its claws across Lady Brienne’s chest, or the one-handed knight who had leapt in front of her, using his body as a shield. She could find nothing about the two of them sharing a bath, of the lady holding Ser Jaime as he collapsed after telling her the truth behind his kingslaying. And there was definitely no mention that the two of them had once sat at a table, drinking wine and beaming at each other as if nothing existed but for that moment in time. There was no indication that any of that had ever happened, or even that Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne had been more than unlikely allies, and yet the dreams made her wonder. She couldn’t stop wondering.

She didn’t know how she was going to look the man in the eye.

As she approached his apartment building, she forced herself to stop and take five deep breaths, focused on the way it felt to inhale deeply, the lift of her shoulders, the straightening of her spine, and then the relaxation on the exhale. It was a trick she had learned when she had first begun assisting in lectures, to calm her nerves before facing the crowd of students. Her innate shyness had made it difficult to take that step, but she had wanted to be in academia, had wanted to teach, and there was simply no getting around learning how to speak to crowds. She needed those breaths now, to center herself before facing Jaime after three nights in a row of him living inside her head.

She rode the elevator to the twelfth floor, her fingers flexing on the binder in her hands, and tried to focus on the work at hand as she walked down the hall to his apartment. It was always so much easier to focus on facts than feelings, and so much safer. She wasn’t sure what Ser Jaime had meant to Ser Brienne, if anything, but if it was even remotely possible that somehow those dreams were real, that they were manifestations of their reality, she could imagine how much it had hurt to lose him when he died in King’s Landing, clutching his sister. She could admit to herself that some part of her wanted to feel that rush of joy and certainty that she had felt in her dream, but not if it was at the risk of having her heart broken. Not if she would only get to taste joy briefly before it turned to agony. And a love that strong, that pervasive? Agony seemed the only way it could end.

Brienne took one more deep breath, and then knocked briskly on the door. There was no place for weird and overly personal dreams now, or questions that should never be asked because they couldn’t be answered. Here there was only space for academic discussion and facts, and a sharing of thoughts because that was what Jaime had required of her. She was in control.

And then Jaime opened the door, a genuinely happy smile curving his lips, and his eyes alight with pleasure, and Brienne knew that she was full of shit. 

“Dr. Tarth!” he exclaimed, his grin somehow growing even wider. “I’m so glad I didn’t scare you off.”

“Well, if nothing else I had to return your notes,” she said, allowing a small smile for him, helpless against his obvious pleasure.

“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose,” he laughed, and the warm sound of it washed over her as she stepped across the threshold. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, beer?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, but thank you.” She sucked her lip into her mouth, teeth digging into the skin gently as he shut the door and turned back to her. 

“Well, right this way,” Jaime said, placing his hand on the small of her back and holding out his arm, guiding her through the foyer. She could feel each individual press of his fingertips at the base of her back, four points of heat burning through her thin shirt and sending little jolts of energy skittering up her spine. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable while you eviscerate my ideas.” He chuckled, a low and warm rumble that was far too close to her ear for her comfort.

“Not at all,” she told him, moving ahead of him to take a seat on his very large and comfortable couch. Brienne glanced around, taking in his apartment as she set the binder on the sturdy table in front of her. His place was comfortably male, all dark wood and muted colors, and quietly but tastefully decorated. She wondered absently if he had decorated it himself, or hired the job out. “I took the liberty of making a few notes, mainly so I wouldn’t forget to ask for clarification, but all in all, I found them very thorough. You could have had a career in academia.”

“Oh gods, not me,” Jaime laughed again, seating himself next to her on the sofa. “I did not inherit the brains in the family.”

“You must have inherited at least a few.”

“Why Dr. Tarth,” Jaime drawled teasingly. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”

She could feel herself flush, both at his tone, and the way her title sounded in his mouth. “Call me Brienne,” she offered, and hoped that it wasn’t obviously done in defense. She could not sit here and listen to him call her ‘Dr. Tarth’, not after the way she had been thinking about him. It was far too erotic, and too much to bear.

“I was hoping we would graduate to a mutual first name basis, especially now that we are so intimately acquainted after your office, Brienne.”

Oh gods, she had seriously miscalculated. Her name in his mouth was far, far worse. It was too intimate, the way the ‘n’s’ of her name sounded like it had been dragged across gravel in his throat, the way he pronounced it with such obvious pleasure. Her blush deepened, and she very deliberately kept her eyes away from him. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Time passed quickly as they delved into their notes, their conversation spiralling as they discussed the way the relationship between the knights could have evolved. It was easier to deal with Jaime when they were both focused on the academics of the matter, falling into a natural give and take, bantering questions and debating answers. If her stomach clenched when he slipped on a pair of black framed glasses, well she was only human. If she found herself laughing and smiling and relaxing back into his sofa, it was only because she enjoyed the way their conversation flowed so easily.

“But there has to be a precipitating event,” she insisted. “ _Why_ did Ser Jaime turn around after leaving Harrenahal to retrieve Lady Brienne? What brought that about?”

“I’m going with your idea,” Jaime said off-handedly, hurriedly jotting down notes in the margins of his previous notes. “Ser Jaime learned that Lady Brienne would be that night’s entertainment, and demanded they return for her at once.” He glanced up at her, catching her expression. “Not in that way, Brienne. The bear pit and the Boltons use of it is factual, there’s plenty of evidence to back that up. So I’m going to run with what you mentioned...that Ser Jaime was told that Brienne would be forced to fight the bear, and he made the entire group turn around to fetch her.”

“You said there was no proof that Lady Brienne was ever thrown in the bear pit,” she replied automatically, her hand lifting once again to press into her collarbone, feeling the gouge of the bear’s claws as if it had just happened.

“Well no, there’s not,” Jaime agreed, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing on her face. “But I like the idea of it...the lady warrior forced to fight a bear without a weapon, the one handed knight, jumping in to save her. It would be foolish and reckless and impulsive, and from some of the personal letters I’ve discovered, that sounds very like Ser Jaime.”

“You should give her a wooden sword,” Brienne offered quietly. “Not a real weapon, but still something to hold the bear off a bit. I think they would have wanted to toy with her. They sound like the type who would want the show to last as long as possible.”

“Yes, men who would throw a woman into a pit to face a bear probably would,” he said quietly, his eyes still steady on her face. “Do you know every time we have mentioned the bear pit, you’ve touched yourself there? Every single time.” His eyes were boring into hers now, an unspoken question burning there. 

Brienne hummed, but didn’t acknowledge his words. What was there to say? That every time the bear pit came up, she was viscerally reminded of her dream? That as insane as it sounded she was starting to wonder if Lady Brienne really had faced off against a bear without a weapon, that she had been injured during the fight? It sounded insane, even inside her own head.

“But that still doesn’t answer the question,” she said, propelling the conversation forward again. “For Ser Jaime to have decided to return for her, delaying his arrival in King’s Landing, potentially putting himself in a fatal position, something had to have changed, surely. So what would have shifted between them from the time they met to the time they parted ways in Harrenhal?”

“Well, the loss of his hand, for one,” Jaime said. “I’m sticking with the idea that he lost it defending her somehow, though I haven’t quite worked out how.”

“And what? He had already lost a hand for her, his swordhand at that, so what else did he owe her? Nothing. She had been his captor, not his friend.”

“Would honor not be enough reason for a knight to save a lady?” Jaime countered.

“But she didn’t see him as honorable, nobody in Westeros did, not until her death, upon the reading of the Book of Brothers. He hadn’t shown his honor to anyone in years.”

“Maybe he did,” Jaime shrugged. “They were captives together, which would have made them allies, at least briefly.” Brienne glanced back at him, and saw that he was looking over her shoulder, very clearly lost in thought. “Maybe for once he wanted someone to know that he wasn’t all bad, that he wasn’t just the Kingslayer.” He glanced at her and then away, just a quick flick of his eyes. “His infection was noted in quite a bit of detail. Maybe Ser Jaime approached Lady Brienne somewhere at Harrenhal, somewhere private, and the truth just came spilling out of him.”

“Where?” her voice was quiet in the room, and she steadfastly ignored the chill bumps that had broken out across her skin. 

“The baths, I think,” Jaime said, speaking just as softly as she had. “They would be equals there, both stripped bare, desperate to be clean. They would argue because of their different natures, and Ser Jaime would find himself just exhausted by always being the villain. He had been the villain since he was only seventeen years old. And Lady Brienne was everything he had wanted to be as a boy...strong and true and honorable. I think he would have wanted her to know that he wasn’t all bad, that he wasn’t just a monster in the stories.” 

Brienne didn’t realize she was holding her breath until it made her lungs ache in her chest. “So he would have told her about why he really killed his King? About the wildfire?” She could see it so clearly in her head, the way Ser Jaime had spit his truth out in her dream, his skin glowing in the candlelight, steam rising around him. “Burn them all,” she whispered, caught up in the memory.

Jaime’s head snapped up, his eyes dark and intent, pinning her to the couch. “What did you say?”

“The wildfire,” Brienne said softly, frozen where his gaze pinned her. “You said in your book he could have told her the truth of his actions. About the wildfire, and King Aerys.”

“No, no, after that,” Jaime said, leaning forward. Brienne wanted to look away, but simply couldn’t. He reminded her of the Jaime in her bath dream now, his eyes burning, his focus complete. “What did you say?”

Brienne took a deep breath, nervous and unsure why. “Burn them all.”

She watched as Jaime’s mouth fell open, his breathing growing quicker. “Brienne,” he started and then had to stop and clear his throat. “Have you heard that before? Read it somewhere?”

Brienne shook her head, and without thinking heard herself say, “I think I dreamed it.”

Jaime’s sudden intake of breath was loud, even over the roaring in her ears, and he leaned toward her. “Brienne, I think maybe we need to talk.”


	4. Take You Back Where You Belong

Brienne’s eyes were wide and blue, her face which normally blushed so delightfully, pale and still. Jaime didn’t understand what was happening, but he felt such an intense relief at her words. “You dreamed it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. “Brienne, tell me what you dreamed about. Please.”

She hesitated, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth as she often did. He had noticed it more than once in their short time together, just as he had noticed her hand pressing to her clavicle at every mention of the bear pit. Partly because he was naturally observant and they were such noticeable movements, and partly because both of them made him want to lean forward and put his lips on her skin.

“Brienne. I know it may sound crazy, but I am asking you to trust me. Trust me with this. I’ll tell you about a dream in return.”

She blinked rapidly, exhaling through her nose as a cautious sort of hope flared in her eyes. “You’ve had dreams about them?”

“Two now,” he said softly. “And one where I was awake. I don’t know what it was. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I was never going to tell anyone about them because I know it sounds crazy. Maybe I am crazy. But I swear, I will tell you whatever you want to know if you’ll just tell me about your dream.”

She watched him for a moment, her eyes roving over his face as if trying to ascertain that he was serious before she gave a small nod. “Okay. I’ll tell you about my dream, and then you can tell me about yours.”

He listened intently, his fingers itching for a pen to write everything down, but not because he would need the reminder. No, he would always remember this moment, this conversation, this _confirmation_. But he wanted to write it down as she told it so that later when he lay in bed alone, he wouldn’t think he had imagined it. It was more far fetched and fantastical than anything he had ever dreamed up for one of his books, and infinitely more satisfying because now he didn’t feel as if he were crazy, or if he was at least he wasn’t alone.

“That’s exactly how I saw it,” he said when she was finished. “Brienne, that is exactly how I saw it. Down to the last detail.”

“How is that possible?” she breathed, gathering a throw pillow close to her chest. “Jaime, none of this is logical. Things like this don’t happen.”

“Things like this do happen,” he said, smiling a little because honestly he was so damn giddy with relief. “It’s happening to us. It happened to us. When did you dream this?”

“The night of our meeting in my office. When did you?”

Jaime let out a shaky laugh, running his hand absent-mindedly over his beard. “I didn’t dream it,” he said, and watched her brows knit together. Before she could speak, he pressed forward. “The reason I got sick in your office is because I could see it, Brienne. In flashes, like lightening strikes. I could see you, then her, hear me, and then him. I could smell the soap, strong lye right?” She didn’t answer but the tightening of her jaw told him he was correct. “There were candles everywhere, and we argued.”

“ _They_ argued.”

“Yes, yes, they argued, whatever. But he was feverish and in pain and so tired of being hated. He told her everything and collapsed, and she caught him, held him up and called for help.” He was excited now, leaning closer into her space. “Brienne. It is _exactly_ like your dream.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Jaime, that isn’t possible.”

“How can you say it isn’t possible when it happened?” Jaime got up from his seat, moving around the coffee table to pace. “Brienne, I know it sounds like something from a bad movie, but as far as I know, neither of us are prone to delusions. I know I’m a writer and can go away inside my own head sometimes, but not like this. And you? I don’t know you, not really, but you don’t strike me as the type to just make something up, or get caught up in something because it is so out there.”

“I’m not,” she said immediately. “But Jaime..”

“You also don’t strike me as the type of person who dismisses something that seems unlikely when there is a real and clear indication that it is actually happening. I’ve read your work, Brienne. You push the boundaries of what is accepted, you argue for new perspectives, look for new evidence. Is this really any different?”

“You’re talking about...what? Some sort of shared subconsciousness? Soul memories? Do you hear yourself?”

“I do,” he said, moving back towards her to sit on the coffee table, his knees nearly touching hers. “But you can’t tell me you didn’t look into it yourself...soul memories. Reincarnation. Something of the sort.”

“Jaime, that stuff isn’t _real_!” She sounded frustrated and agitated, her voice going higher than her typical deep purr. “There’s no verified academic research into this. It’s just ramblings on the Weirnet, probably made by people who are afraid of death and want to believe that we get another chance at life!”

“So many things that we now accept as fact were once deemed insane theories,” he insisted. “Give me another explanation, Brienne. Anything at all that makes this make sense. Because three times now, just in the time that I have known you, I have had very intense dreams or visions or whatever else you want to call them, all involving the same thing. Each one revolved around Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne, each one was so vivid that if I could draw, I could sketch out every single detail. She looked like you, but she didn’t. Her hair was shorter, coarser, her body more muscled and scarred. The face wasn’t as delicate, and not as pretty, but undeniably very like you.”

She blushed hotly at that last bit, and he was distracted momentarily by watching the color seep over her face and down her neck. He wondered how far down her blush spread, if it crept over her entire body or stopped at her breasts. He wondered if her skin would be hot to the touch when she blushed, wondered if the dreams she had admitted to having had impacted her as strongly as they had him.

He had been intrigued with Dr. Brienne Tarth from the moment he read her first article years ago, but he had been fascinated by her from the second she stood in front of that lecture hall, and owned every single inch of space she took up. Tall and strong and powerful, she had walked back and forth in her tidy pantsuit, her voice loud and clear and full of passion, and he had just been captivated by her. But seeing her in his dreams, or rather seeing some version of her, had made it so much worse. Seeing what Ser Jaime saw, feeling what he felt...it was nearly impossible to separate it now that he sat in front of Brienne. 

“Brienne, I know I’m asking you for a lot here. I really do. But this can’t be a coincidence, can it? We meet after your lecture and you started having dreams about Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne? Something that could easily be true, but yet we have no proof of it in today’s world?” She was studying him, her mouth and jaw tight, but her eyes open and searching. “And then we meet again, and I nearly faint in your office because of the same thing?” He reached out cautiously, placing a hand on hers, accepting the slight jolt he felt when his fingers closed over hers. “And then that night, you have a dream about the exact same thing I saw when I sat in your office a few hours before?” Her gaze dropped to their hands then slowly lifted back to his. “Brienne, if you have another idea, anything at all, I am all ears. Truly. But I don’t think we can discount that something is going on here that we can’t explain with logic and academics.”

“What did you dream about?” she asked suddenly. “You said you would tell me what you dreamed about if I told you about mine.”

“The first one, the night we met in your office, I had gone to bed early. I had felt off ever since I had that vision or whatever you want to call it. Shaky, nauseated, overly warm. I kept telling myself I was too caught up in the story already, too fascinated by the idea of meeting you and writing about our namesakes, and that a good night’s sleep would fix everything. So I went to bed, hoping I would feel normal by the morning, and instead I dreamed I was Ser Jaime.” He could see it so clearly, as if he had just woken up alone in his bed, quietly sad and defeated and lonely. 

“What were you doing?” she asked quietly, her eyes not wavering from his.

“I was talking to you. Or to Lady Brienne, I suppose. We were standing in this huge tent, and I could feel the dampness from outside, smell the smoke from the fires. You were in armor, this beautiful dark blue armor that fit you perfectly. I was surprised to see you at first, and then so happy, so relieved. In the dream, I knew it had been quite some time since I had last seen you, and that I had worried about you throughout the entire time we were separated. You told me you had found Lady Sansa, that you had returned her to her brother and sworn your sword to her, and gods. Brienne, I was so proud, so amazed. I can remember that I thought that you made honor look so easy when it was something I had struggled to carry for so long.”

“Jaime, it wasn’t us.”

“I think maybe it was, on some level,” he said quietly, leaning forward a bit, helplessly drawn in by her like he had been from the moment their eyes had locked. He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand absentmindedly, too caught up in his memories to really acknowledge her faint intake of breath. “It felt like me. It looked like you. We stood there in my tent, and you asked for permission to break the siege, to go into the castle and ask Ser Brynden to abandon his home, to ride North with you in aid of his niece. It must have been shortly before the Battle of Winterfell, when the Starks took their home back from the Boltons. And I gave you until nightfall, but told you that it was impossible, that the Blackfish was even more stubborn than you were.”

“That must have been very stubborn based on what I’ve read,” she said, and he finally looked up at her just in time to see her lips curve in a slight smile. 

“It was,” he acknowledged. “I was frustrated with you, but even that was so fucking fond. You unstrapped your sword from your hip, Oathkeeper. Gods Brienne, I only saw the hilt and that alone was just beautiful. You held it out to me, told me that I had given it to you for a purpose, a purpose that you had achieved, and I felt so many things. Exasperated, affectionate, proud, sad...I don’t know, wistful. It was so overwhelming. And I told you that it was yours. That it would always be yours.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her if he tried. “You looked at me, and your chin trembled just a bit, and for a moment I could see it.”

“See what?” Her words were barely a whisper between them, and he inhaled, breathing them in.

“That you felt for me, that you cared for me, that maybe, just maybe, you even loved me.”

Her eyes fell shut for a moment and it took everything in his power not to lean just slightly further to cover her mouth with his own. “They,” she said firmly, looking at him again. “It wasn’t us, Jaime. Maybe it was them, I’ll give you that, but it wasn’t us.”  
“I believe it was them,” he said firmly, and he hoped she could hear his sincerity. “Because if it was then I’m not writing a lie, Brienne. Ser Jaime loved Lady Brienne in that moment, more than he could even begin to acknowledge to himself, much less to her. When he said that the sword would always be hers, he wasn’t talking about Oathkeeper. He was giving her his heart in that moment, even if neither of them knew it.”

“Ser Jaime was still in love with Queen Cersei during the Siege of Riverrun,” Brienne corrected, drawing further back from him. “That is factual.”

“He was,” Jaime agreed, sitting back himself with a slow exhale, both relieved and disappointed that the intensity of the moment had passed. “But he also loved Lady Brienne. I believe that because I felt it. She put her sword back on, and stomped back to the opening of the tent, and he followed behind her like a lovesick puppy, already dreading knowing that he may never see her again. She stopped at the tent and looked at him, and her face, Brienne...god, I don’t even know if I have the words to describe it. She was so stoic, you see, not just then, but always. I knew that, looking at her, knew that her emotions were never written across her face for everyone to see, but they were there if you knew what to look for. Her lips tightened and trembled, and her throat bobbed, and her eyes...they said everything. They were exactly like yours. Same shape, same color, same ability to look at me and see more than I mean them to.” He smiled then as she flushed, her eyes darkening a bit.

“She was upset because she was already two steps ahead of Ser Jaime, just like she always was. She reminded him that her loyalties lay with the Starks, including her kin, and that if a battle came to pass, she would have no choice but to fight with the Tullys. He still didn’t catch on, just agreed, and she pointed out that it meant them fighting each other, perhaps even directly.” He swallowed hard at the memory, remembering the wave of grief that had broken over him at the very idea. “He was so taken aback, Brienne. It had been so long since he had looked at her and seen an enemy...he couldn’t fathom actually raising his sword to her in actual combat. All he could say was that he hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and they just stood there, _looking_ at each other, and for a moment, everything they both felt was stretched in between them. He had never acknowledged it before, but he couldn’t ignore it at that moment, no more than he could ignore the way she felt. It only lasted a second or two before she went striding off on her impossibly long legs, but it was there. They loved each other. I believe that with everything inside of me, Brienne.”

She dragged her hand over her face, scrubbing at it as if she had just awoken from a dream, and the world was still hazy. “So what are you saying? That we are having shared hallucinations? Shared memories? Just say it, Jaime. What do you think this is? Because I _have_ researched it, you were right about that. I’ve tried to figure it out because it doesn’t make any sense to me. None of this does.”

“I think somehow we are experiencing the real memories of Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne, and I know that sounds very far fetched, but it is what I believe.”

“But _why_?” Brienne asked, and now she was the one on her feet, prowling around his living room, shoving her hand through her hair in frustration. “Because they’re our ancestors? Because you’re writing this book? That sounds like something from a fantasy novel.”

Jaime watched her, weighing his words carefully. He knew he had to approach this carefully, could see that she was poised to run away, internally screaming, never to be found by him again, and he couldn’t allow that. So he bit back the words he really wanted to say, the words that he felt were truthful, and instead told her, “Maybe so. We are their descendants and we share their name, and now we are working together to tell their story. I’m sure stranger things have happened.”

“Really?” she asked dryly, and came to a stop to throw him a disbelieving look. “Like what?”

“Brienne, you’re a scholar of one of the oddest times in Westerosi history. There were reports of a battle against the undead, a King who could warg into animals, and a woman who stood in fire and hatched dragons. Surely soul memories aren’t _that_ big a stretch.”

She laughed, which had been his goal, and didn’t press him any further, which was a nice bonus. “Look,” he said, getting up from his perch on the coffee table to join her, grabbing her hands again. “Neither of us knows why this is happening, and most likely we never will. But wouldn’t it be amazing to just go with it? This is our chance to learn more about them, Brienne, to learn what the history books left out. Even if we can’t ever prove any of it, don’t you want to _know_?”

The sigh she let out was very put-upon which made Jaime grin helplessly at her. Less than a week of being in her acquaintance, and she was already exasperated with him. “I suppose it would be,” she said at last, sounding very reluctant to entertain him. “I’ve always wondered about them.”

“So have I,” Jaime said. “Since I was a small child.”

“I guess I can email you if there are any more dreams,” she said softly. “And you could do the same for me.”

“No, no,” he said hurriedly. Gods, the last thing he wanted was for her to leave here, and reduce their barely existent relationship to formal emails. She may not know it yet, but he had no intention of being a passing person in her life. Even if she wasn’t interested in letting him put his hands and mouth on her, he wanted to at least be her friend. “I was actually going to suggest something. And Brienne, I was going to suggest it before any of this even came up. It’s been on my mind since the first time I saw you.” Her hands flexed convulsively under his, and her breath hitched a little, and he quickly continued before she could speak and firmly establish that there would be no anything between them. “I was hoping you would collaborate on this with me.”

She blinked twice, her face falling blank, and slowly eased her hands out from his as she took a step backwards. “Collaborate with you? You mean like we’ve been doing? Discussing theories and timelines?”

“No, not that at all,” Jaime told her, ridiculously disappointed that she had moved away from him. “I mean I want you to write this book with me, really write it. I don’t just want to pick your brain, Brienne, I want your words too.”

“I’m an academic writer, Jaime.” Her smile was patient and kind, if a bit wry. “I don’t write novels.”

“But you write,” he insisted. “And you’re an excellent writer, Brienne. I told you that you make the history come alive, but I didn’t just mean in your lectures. You do it in your writing as well. I’ve been wanting to ask you to work with me on this, but I thought I could let you get to know me more, see that you can trust me before I broached it. Everything else...well, it kind of just accelerated our own timeline, it seems.”

Her eyes flickered on the word trust, but she didn’t say anything as she studied him. He liked that about her. So often every single thought he had came spilling out of his mouth much to his later regret. He liked that she took her time to study the situation, to weigh her words out before she offered them to him.

“I know it is a big change for you,” he told her quietly. “I know it isn’t what you’re used to, or maybe it isn’t even something you’ve ever had an interest in. But you are an amazing writer and a descendant of one of my central characters, a person you now have even greater insight on, insight I could really use. I want to write this book, Brienne, and I want to write it well. I want to write it with you.” She watched him silently and for a moment, Jaime felt as if he were standing in place of his third dream, when he had watched her ride away with his sword and armor protecting her, a misfit squire at her side. Her eyes were as loud as her ancestor’s, though her face was more controlled. “Take a chance, Brienne. I promise I won’t let you down.”

The breath she exhaled was shaky, and her eyes gleamed with an emotion that he couldn’t quite identify, but she nodded anyway. “Okay, Jaime,” she said softly. “I’ll help you.”

Relief shuddered though his body, and he had to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her and swing her about in absolute glee. “Welcome to the team, Dr. Tarth,” he drawled instead, grinning when she swallowed nervously, her eyes darting around. “I promise you won’t regret this.”

She huffed out a laugh and shook her head a little. “Perhaps I already do.”

Jaime laughed with her before shaking her hand, and then tugging her towards the couch. “Come on,” he told her, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “It’s going to be a long road. We may as well get to know one another.”


	5. History Is Like Gravity (It Holds You Down Away From Me)

The problem with working with Jaime was that he was so _much_. 

She had envisioned a mostly professional relationship, similar to the ones she had with her colleagues, with perhaps a dash of more casualness considering the whole possibly reincarnated, picking up on soul memories of their ancestors' thing they had going on.

That had lasted maybe 2 weeks, and even that was mainly due to Brienne’s stubbornness. 

Somehow, without her even realizing it, they had become something resembling friends, all thanks to Jaime’s cheerful determination to make it so, and his uncanny ability to ferret out information about her. It seemed like she only had to mention something for him to lock it away in his memory, and then utilize it shortly after.

Brienne had changed the time of a proposed breakfast meet up, telling him she always ran in the park in the mornings, but would be happy to meet him for brunch. Two days later, she had jogged up to find Jaime waiting for her by the entrance, his sneakers battered and worn, his smile nervous but hopeful. That’s how he became her daily running partner.

She had ordered a cortado when they went out to brunch later that day, and Jaime showed up with one in hand at least twice a week after that, waving her off when she tried to pay him, beaming at her when she grew flustered.

He had clued into the fact that Brienne was slightly obsessive in her goals, zeroing in on what she was trying to accomplish to the point that things like food, and water, and sunshine would fall to the wayside as she burrowed in her apartment or the university library, looking for answers and information. Nearly all her time outside of work was spent either researching Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne or trying to find verified information on soul memories.

Jaime didn’t argue with her or browbeat her to get her to take care of herself. He simply stepped up and helped her do so, either by showing up at her apartment with a bag full of groceries and insisting that she teach him how to cook whatever recipe he had found, or challenging her to a race to get her outside. When he learned that she loved going to the movies, he declared that it would be their weekly reward, and so now every Sunday afternoon ended at the cinema, splitting a large popcorn, and then later laughing over pizza and beer at Niko’s on the corner.

Jaime made no demands on her other than on her time, and seemed genuinely hopeful every time he suggested something, no matter how ridiculous it was. Wandering through museum exhibits, cheering on the local Little League team, shooting paintballs at each other, trying to see if they were smart enough to figure out an escape room...he was able to tie it all back in to research somehow, or the importance of them building trust and camaraderie, and did so with such a smugly satisfied grin that she could only laugh and say yes. Yes, to everything.

And now instead of her life being full of work and research and quiet nights with the TV and a quick dinner, her life was full of Jaime Lannister. 

She wasn’t sure if she had ever really realized how lonely her life was until it was suddenly filled with Jaime. Jaime on her couch, making sly comments about whatever program they were watching. Jaime in her kitchen, dicing onions while she stood at the stove. Jaime across from her in her office, arguing about why Lady Brienne had ever joined Renly Baratheon’s forces in the first place. Jaime grinning at her from the other side of the table, his nose crinkled as he mocked her for eating pineapple on pizza. Jaime, sweaty and disheveled and still glowing as they walked back to their cars after their runs. He was everywhere, all the time. If a day passed without them seeing each other, there were phone calls and text messages, sometimes an incessant stream of them waiting for her when she broke between classes and checked to see if he had contacted her. 

After they had said goodbye for the day, and Brienne crawled into her increasingly big bed, there were the dreams, where another version of Jaime waited for her. They weren’t all as intense or as emotionally devastating as the first few, and they didn’t come nightly, but they were often enough that she could count on having at least four a week, and sometimes more. They ranged in length and in detail, but she awoke from each one with her heart aching and her arms empty and flooded with feelings that she would have to battle back the next day when she saw Jaime again.

The easiest dreams to handle during her waking hours were the ones where Jaime wasn’t even present. The young man with dark hair who had sat beside her at the feast was often with her, riding a horse and singing in a surprisingly sweet and clear voice. Sometimes she was with Lady Sansa, trailing behind her lady, a sense of peace present in her body that she didn’t often feel in other dreams. In another, she had been seated around a fire, her entire body beaten and bruised, her lips and knuckles split open, and despite the agony that her entire body was in, it was nothing compared to the sense of failure that had pervaded every bit of her.

She had woken up screaming one night, her right arm on fire from gripping and swinging a sword, the taste of snow and ash and blood so strong in her mouth that she had stumbled to the bathroom and clutched the toilet, trying to purge her body of the flavor of death. She had called Jaime that night, even though it had been two in the morning, because she couldn’t quite shake the image of him being dragged down by wights, his shout of terror echoing in her head. She had curled up in her bed and talked the dream through with him, letting the sound of his voice wash over her, warming her and carrying her into sleep.

For all the dreams that Jaime wasn’t present in, there were so many more that he was. Fighting with him on a bridge, him with two hands and a broken chain dangling from his wrists, her fury carrying her forward as she parried and slashed at him. Riding with him on a horse, bound together, back to back. Standing overlooking a blue sea, his hair shorn and his face clean shaven, a solid gold hand fashioned to his stump. Standing before him in the dark and drafty hall of Winterfell, her chin held high as she vouched for him, even as he stood there determined and sad and quiet. For all that she had dismissed the idea of reincarnation and soul memories weeks before, she was no longer able to do so, not completely, not in the quiet recesses of her own mind, at least. Not when dreaming of Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne seemed as natural as sitting with him at her kitchen table, eating pasta and debating the strategies of Queen Cersei.

The hardest dreams to handle during her waking hours were the ones where it was clear that Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne had been lovers. The first time it became clear, she had dreamed of waking up beside him, a chill in the air and his body warm and bare next to hers. He had been lying on his side, his eyes open and watching her, and when she had blushed and buried her face into the pillow, he had simply smiled wider and dragged her into his arms, his mouth covering hers softly and then with a fierce hunger that had caused her sleepiness to abate as she arched her body into his, her hands sliding up to clutch in his hair. She had woken with his low moan of pleasure in her ears, her body thrumming with need, and had slid her hand between her legs before she could talk herself out of it. It had taken barely any time for her to climax, her back bowing as she cried Jaime’s name out to her empty room.

Brienne could barely look him in the eye the next morning. 

Shamefully, it had only been the first time it had happened, but far from the last.

There were so many dreams like that, peppered into the more dramatic ones with battles and fighting and bickering. Dreams filled with desperate kisses and a firm hand, fingers sliding across her thigh to brush against her dripping center, the feel of teeth scraping across a nipple before enclosing it in a warm and hungry mouth. Flashes of softer moments where his mouth was a question seeking an answer in her own, his hand soft and gentle as he mapped out each scar and freckle, the way his eyes locked onto hers and stripped her bare as he moved within her, her name a strangled whisper against her ear. 

Yes, on those mornings, she would wake up with her body heavy and seeking, and use her hand and her memory to find a sense of relief.

Almost worse, though, were the ones not filled with heat and hunger, but an intimacy that she had never known. Their laughter echoing around her as they sat in front of a fire, bodies loose and relaxed from the wine in their cups. Walking outside with snow crunching under their boots, speaking quietly about their day. Glancing over to find him watching her as she drilled the younger soldiers, his pleasure and pride washing over her, warming her where she stood. Walking through the halls and throughout the grounds, both inordinately pleased to be with each other, out in the open.

The passion may have had her waking to slide her hands down her long and trembling body, but it was the mundane dreams that had her lying awake for hours afterwards, feeling more alone than ever. She had spent enough time in Ser Brienne’s memories, inside her body, to know that they had several things in common, but perhaps the strongest similarity was that neither had ever allowed themselves to be known. Ser Brienne had worn her armor both literally and figuratively, wounded by so many years of taunts and cruelty about her mannish looks and actions. She never felt like she fit anywhere, as if she simply weren’t quite right. Brienne hadn’t endured the abuse her ancestor had, nor the cruelty, but she couldn’t remember a time when she had ever felt fully comfortable with anyone, when she hadn’t felt slightly out of step. At least until she had met Jaime.

She perhaps wanted that more than anything else, just to really be _seen_ and know that she was enough. Other women seemed to develop that naturally, but it had never taken root in her. Despite her success, despite her accolades, there was a part of her that felt like she was running to keep up with everyone else, that she was never quite enough for anyone. She was solid and steady and dependable, but those weren’t exactly adjectives that a woman wanted applied to herself.

Jaime was the only one who had ever looked at her, and really seemed to see all the pieces of her. He saw the scholar and he saw the athlete, but somehow, miraculously, he also saw the woman. He thought nothing of watching a romantic comedy with her, wrapping his arm around her and stroking her bicep when tears slid down her face. When they walked back from a restaurant and a busker had offered up a basket of flowers, Jaime hadn’t hesitated before buying three, weaving one into her hair, one into his own, and then presenting the last with a flourish. When she detailed the beautiful suit of armor Ser Brienne had been wearing and it had veered into her fascination with shifting fashion trends over the course of time, he hadn’t laughed or thought it was too girly of a topic for her. He had just beamed at her and leaned forward, asking questions and urging her to elaborate even more.

If she hadn’t had to fight the near constant urge to touch him, to kiss him, to wrap her arms around him, her time with Jaime would have been the most peaceful and affirming of her life. Being accepted in every way was a heady rush, one that she was scared she was already dependent on. One that she didn’t want to think about losing when their book was completed, though she was starting to suspect that Jaime would demand their friendship remain intact. She would often glance over to find him watching her, his face blossoming into a slow smile as if she were the best thing he had ever seen. 

In some ways, she thought they were two of the loneliest people she had ever known, at least before finding each other. It didn’t make any sense to her. Brienne was alone because she was innately shy, because she was afraid of loss, because her interests were very niche. Jaime wasn’t shy at all. He was charismatic and gregarious and funny and confident in a way that allowed him to walk down the sidewalk with a lily slid behind his ear. He should be surrounded by people who wanted to soak up the love that seemed to pour out of him, and yet he was just as alone as she was. 

Her phone rang as she rounded the corner, and her smile spread as soon as she saw it was Jaime. “Hey,” she answered cheerfully, pleasure already warming her. “Did you need something? I’m almost there.”

“I have everything ready,” he told her, his voice low and teasing in her ear. “Now I just need you.”

She swallowed her words back, ignored her blush. “Well give me five more minutes and you’ll have me.” _Where the hell did that come from?_ She had to get better control of herself. It was becoming far too easy to relax with Jaime, to let her long-buried playfulness bubble out of her. 

Jaime remained silent for a beat longer than she was used to as he was known for always having a quip ready to deploy. “I’ve been waiting a lot longer than five minutes, Brienne. I can wait a little longer.” His voice was rough and jagged, sending a streak of heat through her body, making her feet stumble as her thighs tried to clench together. She knew that voice. She had heard that voice many, many times in her dreams, usually just before Ser Jaime pressed Ser Brienne to a wall or the floor or their bed, though there had been more than one occasion when he had used it, his mouth close to her ear, his voice quiet, to describe what he was going to do to her when they were alone, smirking as she blushed at all the people around them.

She just never thought that _her_ Jaime would use it, at least not on her. Even if the intention wasn’t quite the same, the result was.

“Okay see you in five, bye,” she said quickly, hanging up before he could say anymore. It was hard enough to sit next to him and have him touch her so casually and smile at her like he wasn’t attacking her. She didn’t need to add _that_ voice and innuendos in there too.

Brienne had gotten control of herself by the time Jaime’s apartment building came into view, and she was able to smile and wave like her body wasn’t full of wants that it couldn't ever have. He smiled and waved back, but there was a tension in his body that she wasn’t used to seeing, his shoulders tight, his arms held close to his body. “Hi,” she said, her eyes roaming over him in what she hoped was a casual manner. He was dressed as casually as she was in a pair of loose shorts, a gray tee shirt, and his battered sneakers, but instead of looking like a suburban dad about to cut the grass, he only looked more approachable, as if his beauty were somehow attainable to the people who got to admire it.

“Hi,” he said, his voice a little off. He cleared his throat, his own eyes flicking over her body, she assumed to assess her outfit, and ensure its appropriateness for whatever he had planned. She was wearing shorts and a wide strapped tank top, a flannel tied around her hips, and running shoes that were nearly as battered as his own. When he had called to invite her for lunch, he had told her to dress casually and be prepared to walk, and she was relieved to see their similar outfits. His eyes seemed to linger on her legs, and she shifted her weight self-consciously. She didn’t often wear shorts because she hated drawing attention to herself, but she felt safe around Jaime. 

At least she did until he looked up and his eyes bore into hers, dark and wild and what even she recognized as hungry. She instinctively took a step back, feeling as if the air had grown weight around them, and swallowed nervously. His eyes flicked down to watch it move, then slid back to hers. “You ready to go?” he asked, his voice hot and heavy again, sliding down her spine and curling into her gut.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, unable to look away from him. “Lead the way.”

He gestured to his car parked and waiting at the curb. “That’s a change,” she said, smiling, trying to get their balance back between them. “I thought you said I should be ready to walk.”

“And so you are,” Jaime said, his eyes zipping down her body again. “But first we have to drive to get to where we are walking.” He reached down and opened her door, reaching out to take her hand and draw her to the seat. “My lady,” he added, and it should have sounded teasing or ironic, but it only sounded sincere and soft.

Brienne settled into the car, breathing in the smell of sun-warmed leather and Jaime, and shutting her eyes against the memory of a dream, though she knew she would have to discuss it with Jaime. She tried to focus on the present moment, allowing herself to feel curious and excited about her outing with Jaime, rather than the surge of tenderness and respect that the dream had invoked.

Jaime settled in beside her and they were off, sliding into the light traffic smoothly. Brienne debated whether to bring up her dream, hoping that it would expel some of this awkwardness between them, and watched as Jaime began to navigate them out of the city. “Where are we going?” she asked finally.

“Not too far,” he said. “I thought we could take a little walk, have a picnic. Just get some fresh air.”

“That sounds good,” she agreed. “A change of scenery is always nice.” Jaime veered right at a fork, and Brienne’s brows furrowed as she watched directional signs whip by. “Jaime, we aren’t going to Harrenhal are we?”

“Brienne! You weren’t supposed to guess til we were nearly there!”

“We literally just passed a sign that said Harrenhal with a large arrow,” she said dryly. “I apologize for my superb detective skills.”

Jaime laughed and she felt the lingering tension between them wash away in its wake. “I thought it would be fun to go somewhere that we had gone in the past,” he explained. “But I also wanted to get out of King’s Landing, and Winterfell is too far for a day trip so...Harrenhal.”

“Where _they_ went in the past, Jaime,” Brienne corrected softly. He was always doing that, saying something was them when really it had happened to their ancestors. She did it too sometimes, but she always tried to catch herself, to correct him. It would be too easy to accept the knights’ actions and words as their own, and nothing good was waiting that way. Imagining that Jaime loved her, here and today, would only lead to heartbreak and devastation, and she had no intention of going through that.

“I know, Brienne,” he said, and she knew he was rolling his eyes without even looking at him, just by the exasperated tone of his voice. “You don’t have to remind me every single time I slip up.”

“Of course I do,” Brienne shot back, though she made sure to keep her tone light and teasing. “I don’t want you getting confused and wondering why you suddenly have a right hand.”

Jaime smiled as he glanced at her, but even it was a muted thing compared to what he usually unleashed on the world. “I had another dream about us last night,” he said softly. “About them.”

“So did I,” she said, turning to look back out of the windshield. “It wasn’t just them, though, there were a lot of people there.” They were all faces and names and stories that had become familiar to her over the past two months. “Ser Podrick was there, and Ser Davos. Ser Jaime’s brother Lord Tyrion. A wildling man named...”

“Tormund Giantsbane,” Jaime said, a sneer in his voice. “Yes, I’ve seen the man too.” He glanced over to scowl at her and then carefully arranged his face into a more neutral expression. “He seemed quite fond of you.”

Brienne arched one pale brow at him, wondering at his tone. “Yes, I had gotten that same impression,” she said dryly. “He wasn’t very subtle.”

“Apparently Ser Brienne did not do well with subtleties when it came to men expressing their admiration from her,” Jaime retorted. “Perhaps being as blunt as the wildling was the only way she would know.”

“She didn’t _have_ men being subtle with her,” Brienne wondered at her tight voice, at the irritation she could hear in it. “She either received mockery or lusty, intense stares like she did from Tormund.”

“You sound like you’re quite a fan of that boor,” Jaime said, and now he sounded both angry and wounded. She glanced at him warily, thrown off balance by this mood of his that she couldn’t quite decipher. Her and Jaime were rarely in sync, but it was an offbeat balance that worked well for them. This...this was something different. Normally she felt as if she stepped wrong, he would be there to catch her with a reckless grin and some gentle teasing. Now a misstep felt like it would trigger an explosion between them.

“Ser Brienne was not a fan of him,” she said carefully. “She admired his bravery and his loyalty as she did in many soldiers she knew, but he made her supremely uncomfortable with his constant leering. He didn’t admire her, Jaime, he fetishized her. She was a novelty because of her size and her muscles and her skill with fighting, and one that he wanted to conquer. He may have grown to care for her and genuinely respect her if he had been given the chance, but she had no interest in allowing that to happen.”

Jaime’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Who else was in your dream?” he asked, and his voice was normal again, _her_ Jaime’s voice.

“I think that was it other than us...them,” she said. “They were all sitting in front of a fire, drinking wine. Well most of them were drinking wine. Ser Brienne was being very responsible, and not partaking. I think it was shortly before the Long Night began. I can’t imagine why else that group of people would be gathered together. And it felt like Winterfell...it was cold, and damp.”

“I had the same dream,” he said softly. “Lord Tyrion went on about all of the battles we had collectively survived, and he accidentally called you Ser. You flinched, but just barely. I don’t think anyone but Podrick noticed. And that bumbling, red-headed beast didn’t understand why you weren't a knight, and you tried to play it off, but I could hear it in your voice. It hurt you because it was what you wanted more than anything, and it was another thing the world had told you that you couldn’t have. You couldn’t have a husband, at least not a kind one. You’d be lucky to have children. And you couldn’t be a knight. Too manly for the first two, and too womanly for the last.”

“Jaime,” she whispered, thankful that she had slipped on sunglasses when they had gotten into the car. “Please don’t.”

“Is that what you dreamed, Brienne?”

“Yes,” she answered, just as quietly. “And Ser Jaime said that any knight could make another knight, and he moved into a clearing and pulled his sword out, the twin to her own, and invited her to kneel.”

“And she didn’t believe him, she scoffed at him,” he spoke his words to the road, not looking at her.

“And he asked her if she wanted to be a knight, and told her, once again, to kneel. She glanced over at Ser Podrick…”

“Who was practically her son,” Jaime interjected. “At least where it counted.”

“Yes, I suppose he was,” Brienne agreed. “And his face, his little nod, and the way Ser Jaime was looking at her, told her to have some faith, that they were all probably about to die anyway so she might as well take the chance.”

“And you stood up, and walked over to me, slowly, your eyes locked on mine the whole time. You looked so wary, as if you were waiting for the joke to land, but everyone in the room was completely silent. They knew they were watching history be made, and they knew it was far past due. Every single person in that room, including that ass of a wildling, knew how amazing you were, how strong, how dedicated, how honorable. You were more worthy of being called Ser than anyone else there.”

“Jaime.”

“And you knelt at my feet, your long, strong body just flowing to the ground, even in your armor, and you took a deep breath and watched my hand clench on my sword. I was so nervous, Brienne. We had gone through so much together, and I had long accepted that you were the best knight I had known, but to see it come to fruition, to be a part of making it happen...it was just as overwhelming for me as it was for you, I think.”

“Jaime.”

“And you wouldn’t look at me,” he continued, ignoring her as he drove them towards Harrenhal, his voice soft and wondering. “You kept your eyes straight ahead as I laid my sword on your shoulder and said ‘In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.’ And that’s when you looked at me, Brienne. Your eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, full of tears and disbelief and... I don’t know. Our history, I suppose, our connection. So many years of fighting and saying goodbye and earning respect and falling in love. It was all right there, no more hiding.”

“Jaime.”

“And our eyes were locked when I said, ‘Arise Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.’ I saw the way your lip trembled, the way your jaw flexed, and your eyes just brimmed. And you slowly got to your feet, never once taking your eyes from me, and it was like the tent dream, Brienne. Everyone in that fucking room, except for maybe that idiot wildling, knew that we loved each other. We couldn’t have hidden if we tried, not then. It was all laid out for everyone to see.”

“Jaime.”

“It felt like the room disappeared, Brienne. It was just you and me, and all our history in that room. That moment was so full of us that it didn’t have room for anyone else. We just stood there, staring at each other, until that boorish fucker started clapping. It startled us both, broke the moment, but I didn’t even care because I wanted you to have that acknowledgement. I wanted you to have all their applause because you deserved it and had for years. I nodded at you, just a quick acknowledgement of my respect for you, my gratitude that I could be the one to do that, and you just burst into this brilliant smile as I went to take my seat, eyes full of tears but just glowing with joy. It was the biggest moment of your life.”

“Jaime,” she tried again.

“And you know what? It was the biggest moment of mine too. I had fought in countless battles, been knighted young, won tourneys, and saved a city, but the proudest moment of my life, the most monumental, was knighting you in that gloomy, depressing, freezing hole up North. I’m thankful it is recorded in the White Book for everyone to see. I wouldn’t want the world to forget that once upon a time, Ser Jaime Lannister loved Lady Brienne of Tarth very much, and he made her a knight because she was the finest one the world had ever seen. She rescued young girls and led armies and fulfilled impossible oaths and reminded selfish, cruel men that there was a chance to do some good in the world. It is the one thing I want remembered.”

“ _Jaime_!” she burst out. “You cannot keep saying things like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, sincerely confused. “It _is_ what he would want remembered, Brienne. More so than even saving King’s Landing. It was the finest thing he had ever done.”

“Exactly,” Brienne said, exasperated. “It was the finest thing _he_ had ever done, not you. Gods, Jaime, sometimes the way you talk…”

“What? Sometimes I what?”

She scoffed a little, shaking her head. “You make it sound like it was _us_ ,” she explained. “Like we have history and we have this love story that spans centuries. And we _don’t_.”

“In a way, I think it is safe to say that we do,” Jaime said derisively. “Come on, Brienne. For two months now, we’ve been getting to see their lives like we are simultaneously watching a movie of them, but also getting to read the book to understand what they’re thinking, what’s motivating them, what they struggle with. I know we haven’t talked about it since that first day. In fact, we’ve been very careful to not talk about it, but at some point, we are going to have to.”

“Talk about what?”

“That we aren’t just having these experiences because they’re our ancestors and we’re working on this book. That this isn’t a coincidence, or some weird research method given to us by chance. I think we’re getting to have these moments because they’re us, and eventually we have to talk about what we are going to do about it.”

“Gods Jaime, do you even hear yourself? This isn’t a movie.”

“There have been documented cases, Brienne. What else makes sense?”

“You say _what else makes sense_ as if any of what you just said _makes sense_ ,” Brienne said, completely exasperated. 

“I think it does,” he said stubbornly. “And until you can come up with something that makes more sense, that explains why we are having these dreams and visions and thoughts, then that’s what I’m sticking with. As far as I’m concerned, reincarnation is real, and I was once The Kingslayer and you were once the Lady Knight.”

“Believe whatever you want to believe,” she snapped. “Just keep me out of it. And stop mixing us up in your head. Even if you were him and I were her all those years ago, that’s not who we are now. Neither of us are knights, we’ve never fought a hoard of the dead, and we don’t have years of contempt and slow growing respect between us. When you’re talking about _them_ , please say them. Not you, and not me, and not us.” 

The air between them seemed to crackle, fueled by their mutual irritation and stubbornness, and pushed forward by all the hundreds of emotions of their knights that they had felt in the past two months. It was exhausting, this constant battle between now and then, trying to keep her emotions untangled from the ones of Ser Brienne. Brienne let out a slow breath, and reached for patience at that thought. If it was exhausting for her, surely it was the same for Jaime. They were both going through a lot without even considering the amount of work they were putting into writing the novel. It wasn’t fair to snap at him because of her struggles. He didn’t know how much his actions and words tormented her when she awoke from yet another dream, alone and empty and full of longing for either a man that no longer existed, or a man who did but wasn’t hers.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice quiet in the heavy air in the car. “It is just a lot to take in without confusing her for me. I’m trying to learn about her and keep a firm grasp on who I am, Jaime. And sometimes those lines get tangled. It is harder to keep them separate when you refer to her like she is me.”

Jaime was quiet for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to respond, worried that she had finally driven him away after so many days wondering why he was spending so much time with her, taking so much care with her. “I’m sorry too,” he said after another long moment. “I know what you mean about them getting tangled, and it tangles more for me the more I get to know you. I know that I’m not him, and you’re not her. I know that, Brienne.” His voice was earnest now, entreating her to believe him. “But you are a lot like her, and I am a lot like him, and sometimes it just gets difficult to remember that I haven’t known you for years. It feels like you’ve always been a part of my life, you know? Like I met you as a child and then forgot, and now it’s all coming back to me.”

Brienne smiled softly, ignoring the tears that sprung to her eyes. “I know,” she said, mustering up her courage to reach out first, and cover his free hand with hers. The same jolt of warmth hit her, but she had grown accustomed to it, welcomed it even. “I feel like I’ve known you for years too.”

Jaime glanced at her, his eyes moving over her face before sliding back to the road. “We’ll figure this out, Brienne. It has only been two months so I think we can be forgiven for some missteps, don’t you? It isn’t like there’s a guidebook for how to handle suddenly finding yourself having dreams about a past life, especially not in conjunction with someone else.”

Brienne laughed at that only for it to choke in her throat as Jaime tangled their fingers together, holding her firm when she started to ease away. “You really believe that?” she asked after she regained a little control. “That we were them? That we were knights who lived and fought during the Long Night?”

“I do,” Jaime said, and his voice was smooth and certain, glowing with a confidence that she did not feel. “I may have a strong imagination, Brienne, but I couldn’t come up with this. I know we aren’t the same people, that there are differences, and that our lives are our own. But I also believe my soul remembers yours, and that whether that is true or not, my life is better with you in it.”

“Jaime,” she whispered with zero clue of how she would follow that up. What could she say to that? Tell him that her life was better with him in it too? That deep down, locked away and rarely examined, she too believed that what they were experiencing were soul memories? Maybe Ser Brienne had been born with bravery, or maybe her reckless determination had been borne of her life experiences, but whatever the case, _this_ Brienne had to work up to it. 

As she was still wrestling with what to say, she saw the sign for their turnoff and breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re here,” she said instead, and was both relieved and disappointed when Jaime didn’t push it.


	6. Don't Be Sad and Don't Explain

The best part of working on this book was Brienne Tarth, and Jaime would never change his mind on that.

  
She had been so stilted and awkward in the beginning, always watching him as if she expected him to laugh at her ideas, or criticize her writing, or dismiss her expertise. Any time he did anything remotely considerate for her, she would stare at him with wide eyes as if she had never experienced basic courtesy before. 

  
Maybe she hadn’t, but it only made Jaime even more determined to show her all the things she deserved to have. He had never met anyone like her.

  
At least not in this lifetime.

  
He knew she was skeptical about the whole soul memories thing, but Jaime didn’t mind a healthy dose of skepticism. He wasn’t known for his patience or for his restraint, but he could at least try to exercise both for this. For her. Jaime could tell that she didn’t fully trust him yet, didn’t trust him with the softest parts of her, but he knew they were there. He could see it in the way she blushed when he opened doors for her, or gave her his jacket. Every time she got teary during a movie, she would turn her head away from him, as if somehow her tears were shameful. Jaime wasn’t sure why. He had teared up during a few of them too.

  
And she was just so _great_. When he talked, she gave him her full attention, even if she was in the middle of editing a paragraph, steadily correcting the typos Jaime still couldn’t seem to catch on his own. She was funny, but in a quiet, mischievous way that never failed to make him laugh. One of his favorite things to do was watch her grant him a small, sly smile when she said something even mildly inappropriate, which was more often than one might expect. She always had muffins from Hot Pie’s waiting when he joined her at her place for morning sessions, and he knew, he just _knew_ that she asked them to provide extra blueberry crunch ones in their variety package because he had said that they were his favorite.

  
It was the little things that had Jaime sliding into a heavy like, and then careening around third base and heading for home. The way she dumped out the first sip of every water bottle because she had once spilled it all over a nice blouse, and had never taken the chance again. The way she tilted her face up to the sky when she smelled rain, whatever that meant. The bag of emergency chocolate she kept on her that she would try and toss into his mouth when he was being either petulant or irritable, somehow cheering him up and making him feel like a well-trained seal at the same time. The bottle of hazelnut creamer she had in her fridge because she knew he occasionally liked it.

  
He had never had someone pay attention to him like she had. For most of his life, he had been expected to pay attention to everyone else, to mold himself for what fit them the best, but never had the favor been returned. Nobody had ever cared about his likes or dislikes, or had let him pick the doughnut first, or listened to his music with only minor snide comments. Brienne seemed to think that he was enough as he was which was basically the exact opposite of how he had been treated his entire life. 

  
Sometimes he thought she really _wasn’t_ real, but the product of all his dreams. Like Ser Brienne had been modernized and dropped into his life to save him, just as she had once saved Ser Jaime, at least for as long as she had been able to. Loving her hadn’t been enough to keep him from his sister in the end which Jaime still didn’t understand.

  
If he could get Brienne to fall in love with him, Jaime couldn’t imagine ever needing anything else. Just her smiling at him when she was relaxed and happy made him feel like he had won every award he had ever been up for. Hell, he would honestly settle for a lifetime of just this...close friendship and trust and intimacy, even if it meant that he could never get his hands on her the way he wanted to.

  
But he really, _really_ wanted to put his hands on her.

  
He couldn’t even tell if she was aware that he spent half of their time together trying to angle tables and pillows over his hips. When she bent down to stretch before their morning runs, simply folding over at the waist to press her fingertips to the ground, he had to turn away from her just so his mind would shut the fuck up for one second. Or when she would let out a little hum of appreciation when her coffee was just right, and he had to grip the edge of the table to stop himself from leaning over and tasting it in her mouth. A month into their acquaintance, he had realized there were videos of her reenactment tourneys on GreenView, and had spent an entire weekend watching her beat the hell out of people with a replica sword, her long, muscled body encased in armor, her loud yells and grunts ringing in his ears. No matter who they sent after her, she felled them all, towering over them with her feet firmly planted, her legs spread wide, and her face a red, glorious mess when she took off her helmet and shook her hair out.

  
Jaime had thought he was going to sprain his wrist jerking off the next morning. He had dreamed of Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne fighting on a bridge, stepping into each other, circling each other, their bodies mirroring each other’s effortlessly. His body had been tensed with desperation, his smug certainty slowly giving away to irritation and then a grudging mix of respect and despair. His blood had been singing in his veins, making him feel alive in a way he did only with a sword in his hand. He had been grinning and joking, and she had simply kept her face devoid of emotion as she moved with him, her body completely in tune with his own. And then when he had been on the verge of waking, it had shifted to him and Brienne, circling each other in the gym, eyes locked and hot, skin already flushed and damp with sweat.

  
They had grappled, parted, and then clenched again, wrestling each other where they stood before Brienne had thrust her hip against his belly, using her height to throw him to the ground and cover his body with her own. He had squirmed, trying to free himself, and was suddenly, urgently hard, bucking up to press against her where she was hot and wet against him. And then, like all good dreams, their clothes had just been gone without any effort on their parts, and she had lowered herself onto his stiff cock without hesitation, both of them crying out at the feeling of finally, _finally_ getting around to the fucking. He had gripped her hips tightly, certain to leave fingertip shaped bruises in the tender skin, and looked up at her, feeling something shift inside him as their eyes locked and she began to move.

  
Jaime had awoken with a cry, his cock hard and leaking on his belly, and had brought himself off with 3 quick strokes, Brienne’s name strangled in his throat. Later, in the shower, he felt horribly guilty over it, and told himself he would not allow it to become a repeat performance. Surely jerking off to your work partner and friend was crossing some sort of line.

  
He had made it 32 hours before he had found himself in his bathroom again, taken down by Brienne steadily licking sauce from her lip as they split a container of sesame chicken. He was only human, after all, and the sight of her pink tongue sliding across the plumpness of her lip after every few bites steadily whittled away his composure until it was either escape to the bathroom to knock out a quick one, or throw the food to the floor and press her into his couch. And no matter how much he was ready for the latter, he wouldn’t attempt that until Brienne made it clear she was willing to be pressed into said couch.

That was one of the main reasons he wanted to get out of the city, and venture to Harrenhal. Not only did he truly want to visit the historical site with Brienne, but he was hoping he would have better control over his libido if they were out in public. He surely couldn’t have any worse. 

  
Their small argument in the car had highlighted a few things for him. One, just as in his dream, and he suspected just as it was for Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne, he liked it when Brienne let herself go, let herself spark and snarl and snap at him. It made him want to step up to her and challenge her, see who the winner would be if they unleashed all their strength and energy on each other. Two, Brienne was either hiding something or still stubbornly resisting the idea of reincarnation for some reason, and was very defensive over even exploring the idea in depth. And three, Jaime was going to have to come clean with her, sooner rather than later.

  
It terrified him a little because the last thing he wanted was to lose Brienne as a friend, or as a writing partner. In no time at all, she had quickly become the most important person to exist in his life. Every time he saw her, he felt a quiet sort of relief rush through him, like he had been rushing and rushing his entire life, trying to get somewhere and could finally relax now that he had made it. It was an intoxicating feeling, one that he had grown to depend on. Listening to her expound on ideas, or laugh at silly things he said, or blush when he slipped a compliment into their conversation...he couldn’t get enough of any of it. Couldn’t get enough of her. He was scared that pushing for more would ruin that, but he knew with absolute certainty that he would regret it if he didn’t at least give her the option.

  
So eventually he would do what his stupid, romantic heart was telling him to do, and throw it in her lap, and hope like hell she wanted to pick it up.

  
Brienne was quiet as they explored the bear pit first, pointing out where Lady Brienne had laid on the ground after being knocked down, where Ser Jaime had jumped in to rescue her, the boards on the wall that he had used to scramble up after her as the bear charged. He simply listened, taking photos with his phone, and watching her as she pressed her hand to her chest. 

  
“It looks just like my dream,” she told him as they walked through the archway that would lead them back inside. “It’s more unsettling than I realized it would be.”

  
Jaime reached out to clasp her hand, to tangle her fingers with his as he had in the car. Friends held hands, right? He wasn’t sure since he didn’t have many friends, but he chose to believe that the answer was yes. “Because of how scary it was?” He stroked his thumb over her fingers reassuringly. 

  
“No,” she said, “Though it was scary. Terrifying, really. But more so because I think deep down, I’ve always known what this was. The minute I read about soul memories, everything inside me lit up as if I already knew the term and just needed to be reminded of it. And I had it in my head that if we came here, if things looked different, then it couldn’t possibly be real.”

  
“I don’t understand why this scares you so much,” Jaime admitted, walking down another set of stairs without putting much thought into it. They were heading into the bowels of the old castle, their way illuminated by torches hanging from the walls. A shiver slid over his skin, and he held her hand tighter. He would have to commend the overseers. Everything about the place felt extremely authentic.

  
“Because things like this don’t happen to people like me. And I don’t know what to _do_ about it. What good is it, knowing that once upon a time my soul existed in Ser Brienne, who fought like hell and made history and loved a man and lost him, and then spent the rest of her life alone? That isn’t cheerful knowledge, Jaime.”

  
“You don’t like thinking you were once the first woman to be knighted? The first female Lord Commander?”

  
“I like the idea of breaking traditions and setting new precedents,” Brienne admitted, “Even though that’s nothing like me. But think about it, Jaime. She never married, never had children. Her entire life after the Battle of Winterfell was about duty. I hope that’s something she found peace in, but honestly it just makes me sad. I have accepted that I’ll probably be alone in life, but it is much harder to accept that perhaps I’ve _always_ been alone. As if it is somehow my destiny to live for work and nothing else. Does that make sense?”

  
Jaime watched her and finally felt as if he understood her reluctance. Finally, after all this time and all these discussions, Brienne had opened up just a little. He was relieved that he wouldn’t have to waste time convincing her that they were dealing with soul memories, but his heart ached at what she had said. “Brienne,” he said slowly. “That’s not your destiny. It’s not. I don’t think it was hers, either.”

  
“And yet that’s what she got,” Brienne said, bitterly. “A broken heart and a life full of duty.”

  
“Something went wrong somewhere,” Jaime insisted, tugging her forward as they turned at the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why they didn’t get their happy ending, but that doesn’t mean it’s what is waiting for us. My sister barely speaks to me, and when she does it is full of derision. I don’t know how I’m going to die, but I’m relatively certain it won’t be crushed under a pile of bricks with her.” Brienne chucked then, a watery sound that made Jaime smile. “And if that isn’t my destiny then surely that means yours isn’t necessarily a life with nothing but work. Ser Brienne fought for what she wanted, and received most of it. I’ve seen nothing in you that makes me doubt you will do the same.”

  
“I wish I could see myself the way you see me, Jaime,” Brienne said softly.

  
“Well until you can, I’ll just keep reminding you,” Jaime said, turning to smile at her as he angled down another hall. “We should be almost there.”

  
“Two more doors,” Brienne confirmed without having to think about it. She just shrugged a little when Jaime arched an eyebrow at her, and he wondered if she was starting to accept that their soul memories were real, even if she wasn’t ready to discuss what it meant for them now. That conversation would come, though. He refused to have Brienne going through her days, thinking she was meant for work and a life of solitude. He didn’t understand how she could possibly think that. He had practically invaded every aspect of her life in the past two months. Solitude seemed like the exact opposite of what she was destined for because he grew more certain every day that she was destined for him.

  
They stopped to scan the sign outside the door, but found nothing that applied to them or the story they were writing. Jaime pushed the door open, pleased when it let out a slight creak as the ancient wood shifted, and then let go of Brienne’s hand so that he could press his hand to her back and allow her in first.

  
The baths of Harrenhal stretched out before them exactly as they had in his vision, and he was guessing that Brienne’s deep breath meant that it was the same for her as well. “We...they were here,” she said, striding forward on her insanely long legs, and Jaime allowed himself a moment to let his eyes wander the pale expanse of thigh. “She felt like she hadn’t been clean in years. For all that she was a knight and a warrior, she was still a highborn lady, you know. She had often gotten dirty as a child, but there had always been a bath or the sea waiting for her afterwards. She wasn’t used to being unclean.” She walked around the deep pool, and turned to face him, nearly in the exact same spot as he remembered her being when he had once spilled out his secrets to her.

  
Jaime stepped forward, moving to where his counterpart had made himself comfortable. After a quick glance around, he toed his shoes off, and then stripped his socks off as well before sitting down, dangling his feet over the edge. “You said that there were other baths,” he said, sliding his feet in the impossibly warm water. “And ran to the corner as if I were going to harm you.” He glanced up at where she stood across from him. “Are you going to run this time, Brienne?”

  
A small shudder ran through her, his eyes greedily tracking the slight movement of her body, and then she was mimicking him, stripping off her shoes and socks to make herself comfortable on the edge of the pool, sliding her feet into the water. “I haven’t run yet,” she said.

  
“You’ve wanted to a few times, I’m sure,” Jaime responded, studying her. Her brow arched, a mimic of his own habit that she had somehow picked up in the past few weeks. “That’s the sense I get anyway.”

  
“What’s that?”

  
“That some part of you doesn’t trust me. I don’t know if it is you not trusting me, or if it is Ser Brienne not trusting Ser Jaime, but there’s a piece of yourself that you hold back. You let me have a small glimpse or two of it today, but you keep so much buried away from me, and I don’t know why. I don’t know if it is something I did, or something _he_ did all those years ago.”

  
He watched her breath shudder out of her, and though there was the slightest of flinches on her face, she didn’t lower her eyes from him. “I don’t know either,” she said. “I don’t know what you want me to say here, Jaime.”

  
“Do you trust me? Just answer that, at least.”

  
She was silent for so long that Jaime felt something knot unpleasantly in his chest. Just when he was about to wave it off, to let her off the hook, she took a deep breath, and spoke. “I trust you as a work partner. I trust that you will be honest with me, and that you’ll give me your opinions whether or not I ask for them. I trust your judgment of history for the most part, and your judgment of sushi restaurants not at all. I trust that you won’t deliberately hurt me.”

  
Jaime nodded, mulling over her words. “You know how you said that you were scared you were meant to end up alone, married to your work because that’s what happened to Ser Brienne?” At her nod, he dragged his foot through the water, watching it ripple out around his ankle. “Do you also think that’s the reason you don’t trust people much? Because of how often she was hurt?”

  
Brienne sat back on her hands, sucking on her bottom lip, and giving the question the consideration it deserved. “I’m not sure,” she told him. “I’ve always been shy, and I’ve always had a hard time making connections with people. Long-lasting ones at least. I don’t know if that’s just how I was born, or if that’s how I was born because that’s how she lived. That’s the problem, Jaime. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know where she ends and I begin, and I don’t like that.”

  
“It’s...disorienting, isn’t it? To be so unsure of who you are? Or at least why you are who you are? I thought I had myself figured out. I was in therapy for three years, spending a lot of money and time _to_ figure that out. And now I don’t even know. I mean, I know some of it is because of what I worked out in therapy. My father is an asshole who never gave me an ounce of affection, and constantly belittled me for not being enough, even as he shoved me into the limelight every two seconds. It left its mark, you know? But then I read about how Ser Jaime was raised, and what he went through, and the way he was treated like a weapon by every single member of his family at some point, and it makes me wonder.”

  
“That’s what I mean, though, Jaime.” Her voice was insistent, higher than normal. “Look at the things that have already been similar in our lives. Both our mothers died when we were young. Our fathers have the same name, your siblings have the same names. My father is kind but distant. Your family is a fucking nightmare, no offense. You were basically emotionally manipulated into entering a career, and then staying in a career because of your family. I struck out on my own, traveled away from home, and ended up in King’s Landing. So much of our lives mirror theirs. So how much of who we are is really us? And how much of our friendship is based on theirs?”

  
He could feel himself mentally sputtering at the word friendship, but thought to save that particular battle for another day. “Maybe some bits of our lives are impacted by their lives,” he said instead, watching her from across the steam of the bath, just as he had hundreds of years ago. “But that doesn’t mean their lives are a blueprint for ours, Brienne. We may have a lot of similarities, but we also have a lot of differences. I’m a romance novelist. Do I look like a knight to you? We couldn’t be more different.” He held his arms out, smirk firmly in place.

  
Brienne’s eyes flickered over him, and he watched as she flushed before she dropped her eyes, moving her feet to mirror his. He wondered if she realized they were moving their feet in the same pattern as their sword drills, picked up from all the dreams he had had of sparring with her in the courtyard. Dreams that usually ended with him pressing her up against the wall of the armory. ” Ser Jaime _was_ a romantic, though,” she said. “He was a knight, yes. He took oaths to protect the innocent and to serve justice. He gave up his birthright to be close to the woman he loved. He might not have written romantic stories, like you, but you can’t sit there and tell me that your streak of romanticism might not have come from him.”

  
“Ser Jaime was fairly despicable at times,” he said, and nearly laughed when he watched her literally swell in rage. “Brienne, I’m not saying he was a horrible man. I’m just saying he wasn’t the best one, either. He was a valiant fighter and by all accounts fearless to the point of idiocy at times.”

  
“Like when he charged the dragon,” she said, smiling at him now, and he could see her remembering the day he had gone into ridiculous detail about that particular act of idiocy.

  
“Exactly,” he laughed. “He was brave, and we know he did a lot of really great things, but he was flawed. Maybe those same virtues and flaws have been passed down to me because I was him, or maybe it’s just because reckless idiocy runs in the family. Who’s to say, really? I don’t plan on making his mistakes or committing his crimes. I don’t know why you think you will.”

  
“It’s not necessarily that I think I’ll make her mistakes,” she told him. “It’s that I’m scared. I’m scared I’m destined to make her mistakes, and I’m scared that I will be trying so hard to avoid her mistakes that I end up making them anyway. Or making worse ones, even. I’m scared that it is so easy to get swept up in this, in this extraordinary _madness_ , and lose sight of who we really are. I don’t want to mistake you for him, and I don’t want you to mistake me for her. And even though you say you really see me sometimes I don’t know if I can believe that because I know how often I see traces of him when you do something.”

  
Jaime nodded, his leg bouncing under the water, and then before he could change his mind, he got up and moved around the bath to sit beside her, close enough that the long stretch of her bare thigh pressed against his leg, their calves aligning in the water. “I do see her sometimes,” he admitted. “It’s impossible not to when I see her in my dreams so often. But just because I see her doesn’t mean that I can’t see you, Brienne. I _see_ you.”

  
She kept her head down, watching their feet in the water. “Jaime, sometimes that scares me even more than the idea of you only seeing her.”

  
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, thankful that this time she was brave enough to lay herself bare, and reached over to trace her pinky with his own, relieved when she slowly curled her finger around it. “You don’t have to be scared Brienne. Not with me.” She looked at him then and he looked back, meeting her open, vulnerable gaze with his own. “I trust you.”

  
“I’ll try to trust you too, Jaime,” she said softly, and he smiled, bumping her shoulder with his. That would be enough for now.

  
  
  


  
  
They had made their way out of the bathing area when Jaime suddenly veered off without a word, leaving Brienne scrambling to follow him. “Jaime,” she hissed behind him, and he could hear the sound of her feet speeding up. “Jaime, I don’t think we’re supposed to come this way.” She grabbed at his elbow, gesturing irritably to a sign that very clearly instructed them that there was no admittance.

  
“I need to see something,” he told her. “Brienne...just...come on. I need to see.”

  
“See what?” she asked, resigned to following him on whatever harebrained scheme he had come up with this time. 

  
“There’s a room here, I think here,” he muttered, mainly to himself. “I remember this hall. I had this dream too.”

  
“You’ve never told me about another dream at Harrenhal,” she said, almost accusatory, he thought. “You just told me about the baths.”

  
“Do you tell me every single dream or flash you have?” he countered, glancing back at her, his brow raised. “Every detail of every single one?” He could feel the grin explode across his face at the way she immediately went bright red, and made a mental note to return to this subject later. Perhaps in the car when she couldn’t escape. “Exactly. Now stop trying to light the way with your blush and just come on.”

  
He could hear her muttering under her breath as he continued down the hallway, but he was too eager to see if he was right to try and parse out what she was saying. He was fairly certain it wasn’t complimentary, anyway, which meant he had no desire to necessarily hear the exact words. 

  
“Here,” he said, finally drawing to a stop, and trying the door handle, relieved when it slid open smoothly and no alarms went off.

  
“Jaime, it clearly says this is a prohibited area,” Brienne groaned, but gamely followed him inside. He scanned the room, pleased to see he was right, and then turned to look at her, curious if there would be any recognition on her face. 

  
“It’s a room,” she said after a quick glance around. “What exactly is the importance of this?”

  
“This is where Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne said goodbye for the first time,” he explained. “The first of many times. After the bath, but before the bear. It was an important moment for him. I don’t know if it was for her, but it was for him.”

  
“Why?” Brienne asked, her brows furrowed in confusion. He wanted to stroke a finger down the line that appeared when she did that, wanted to kiss it until it smoothed away.

  
“It was the first time she said his name,” he said softly, remembering the emotion that had swept through him when she had. “The room wasn’t quite as nice as it is now...it was dark and damp, filled with random furniture they had shoved in here out of the way. They made it her chambers while she was here, while she was hostage. The night before he departed, Ser Jaime came in, and she jumped to her feet, wearing this ridiculous pink dress She thought he had already left, but he was there for one more night. He told her that Lord Bolton was going to be leaving for the Tully wedding, and that she was to remain here with Locke.”

  
Brienne let out a breath, shaking her head a little. “Well, I imagine she knew what that meant.”

  
“She did,” Jaime agreed. “He could see it, that knowledge, and just a little slice of fear before it was covered by resignation. She was often resigned, it seemed.”

  
“Well, with the way her life had gone, I can see why,” Brienne said dryly.

  
“He told her he owed her a debt,” Jaime continued, lost in the way he had felt, standing in this room, knowing he was leaving her to be raped and killed, knowing that he would never see her again. “He wasn’t used to owing people debts, especially not women. Especially not women who had dragged him through half the country in chains.”

  
“There were many of those, were there? He seems the type.”

  
He flashed a small grin at her, stepping further into the room, trying to find where he had stood before. “Just the one,” he said. “Just her.” He turned to look at her again, extending his hand for her to take.

  
“We’re going to get kicked out,” Brienne grumbled, but she stepped forward and took his hand anyway, allowing him to draw her in beside him.

  
“It’s almost lunchtime anyway,” he reasoned. “And I told you, this was an important moment for him.”

  
Brienne made a little humming noise beside him, letting go of his hand to wander further in on her own accord. The dark and drafty chamber he remembered was now a charming and tasteful office and bedroom suite, and he could tell Brienne was itching to get her hands on some of the antiques they had used. “So?” she finally asked, drawing to a stop and turning to face him. “What happened next?”

  
“She took a couple of steps closer to him,” Jaime did the same now. “And told him that when Lady Catelyn released him, they had both made a promise to her, that now it was his promise, and if he fulfilled it, he could consider the debt paid.” He let out a breath, shaking his head a little. “She didn’t ask to be released, didn’t demand that he stay. She just asked him to keep his word, that he do the right thing. I suppose when it comes down to it, that’s all she ever asked of him.”

  
“Yes, I suppose it was,” Brienne agreed softly.

  
“He told her that he would fulfill their oath, that he would return the Stark girls to their mother. He looked her in the eye and swore it, and in that moment, he meant it, Brienne. He was already changing, even though he didn’t recognize it yet. He couldn’t have explained it if he tried, not to her, not to his family, not even to himself.” He took another step closer, then another. “And then you know what happened?”

  
“What?” she asked softly, barely breathing the word, watching him warily as he took another step into her space.

  
“We looked at each other, another one of those long moments where so much was being said but without a word spoken. And then you lifted your chin, and you said ‘Goodbye, Ser Jaime.’ I couldn’t even speak, Brienne. It was the first time you had called me anything but The Kingslayer or Lannister. I had never worked so hard for someone’s respect, had never cared if I had anyone’s respect. But I had earned yours, all for the act that made the entire kingdom revile me.”

  
“Not just for that,” Brienne said.

  
“I didn’t want to leave, Brienne. I didn’t want to say goodbye, not that time or any other time. I knew that I was leaving you to face the unimaginable, but there wasn’t enough of a good man in me to stay, not then.” He moved closer to her, slowly reaching out to stroke one finger down her arm, gratified when she trembled slightly, her eyes big and blue and not wavering from his face. “I thought I would never see you again,” he continued, and took a chance by cupping her forearm, and then slowly sliding it upward, her muscles quivering beneath his palm. “Every time we said goodbye, I thought it would be goodbye forever, that I would never see you again.” He kept his eyes locked on hers as he finally, _finally_ cradled her jaw, and began to lean in. “But each time...Brienne, each time, I wanted you to stay. To stay with me.”

  
His lips had barely begun to brush against hers when he felt her jerk backwards, her face twisted with both shock and pain, her eyes slightly wild. Jaime felt as if he had been punched in the gut, his breath tangling in his lungs and making his chest tight. _Fuck_ , he thought, letting his hand fall back to his side. He had been caught up in the moment, in the emotions the memory had evoked, and had let himself get carried away. He cursed himself, wondering why he was always so determined to ruin every good thing in his life. “Brienne,” he began, hoping something would come to him to help mitigate this massive fuck up.

  
“Don’t,” she said, her voice tight and controlled, her eyes glued to the door behind him. “Let’s just...let’s just go.” She brushed past him then, her spine rigid, her chin out, and was out the door before he could say another word.

Jaime stood there for another moment, trying to get control of himself, trying to understand where he had gone wrong. It had felt like they had grown closer today, that they had both eased some doors open and leaned into each other a bit. He had thought it was worth the chance, thought that maybe Brienne cared enough about him to be willing to take that step, to look past her fears.

  
Instead it felt like they had just had yet another goodbye.

  
  
  


  
  
  



	7. Like That Could Save You From Your Past

The instant the words “ _Stay with me_ ,” had left Jaime’s mouth, Brienne had felt as if she had been hit by an iron fist to the belly. All of the lingering lust and longing that had been building in her all day, or perhaps from the moment she had seen him in her lecture hall, or hell perhaps even from the second Ser Brienne had lost Ser Jaime, it had washed away in a rush of pain, and something that felt an awful lot like grief. She hadn’t even been able to really appreciate the way his rough palm had felt on her jaw, or the look in his eyes as he had eased closer, much less the slight graze of his lips against hers. All she could focus on was the need to get away.

  
They had fumbled their way through their picnic, and then the car ride back to King’s Landing, their words awkward and uncertain, the air between them once again thick, but this time with a much different type of tension. Jaime had gamely spoken about anything other than Harrenhal and the fact that he had almost kissed her before being rebuffed, even going on a particularly lengthy review of different honeys from the time of Robert’s Rebellion, some of which were still used today. Brienne appreciated his effort and as always, his attention to detail, but couldn’t seem to force herself to respond. Her head was pounding, and her stomach was rolling, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and slip into a dreamless sleep.

  
“Brienne, could we maybe talk about what happened back there?” Jaime finally asked as they drew close to her apartment. She kept her eyes on her building, willing herself there.

  
“Not tonight, Jaime,” she said. When he started to protest, she held her hand up, finally looking at him, and spoke over him. “I have a splitting headache and am honestly exhausted. We _will_ talk, I promise, but can we just table it for tonight? _Please_.”

  
Jaime sucked in a breath, and if she hadn’t been looking right at him, she would have missed the misery and heartache that flashed across his face. He jerked back a little, and swallowed hard, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. “Okay,” he said softly. “If that’s what you want, then of course that’s okay. Will I... can I see you tomorrow?”

  
Brienne forced some approximation of a smile on her face, though she was sure it looked horribly pained. “Of course,” she told him. “You’re coming over at 4, right? We were going to finalize an outline for the ending.” 

  
“Right,” he agreed. “Okay, tomorrow at 4. I’ll be here.”

  
Brienne only nodded, her lips still twisted in whatever they had worked themselves into, and scrambled out of the car as fast as she could, hurrying inside without looking back. It was the first time in over a month that they had said goodbye without hugging. It felt very wrong to leave it like this, but she couldn’t bear the thought of his arms around her right now. She just wanted to get into her PJs, curl herself into a ball, and try to force this pain out of her body before it could take further root.

  
Only the pain didn’t dissipate once she was out of Jaime’s presence, and the heavy weight in her gut didn’t disappear as she crawled into her bed at only 8 o clock. She kept replaying the moment in her head, Jaime working his way closer and closer, mustering up the courage to reach for her. She had wanted to kiss him back, had wanted to slide one hand into his hair and the other alongside the beard that had tormented her, and feel his tongue in her mouth. She couldn’t understand what had come over her, but then again, she hadn’t been able to understand anything for the past two months.

  
Brienne rolled onto her side, drew her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in her pillow. _Please_ , she thought to whoever may be listening, _please just let me sleep tonight_.

_It was cold enough outside that she could see her breath in little puffs, the smell of snow and frost and horses thick in the air. She watched him for a moment, hidden inside the shadow of the castle, as he slowly but steadily readied his horse. She had known what she would find the minute she awoke to the sound of her door closing, and her bed empty, but seeing it still caused her chest to tighten._

  
  


_As she moved out to join him, wrapping her arms around her body, she could tell the exact moment he realized she was there. A stiffness entered his frame, his movements still sure, but detached, and he very deliberately kept his eyes on his work. She waited a moment, hoping he would speak, but was unsurprised when it was left to her. “They’re going to destroy that city,” she said, her voice quiet but clear. “You know they will.”_

  
  


_“Have you ever run away from a fight?” he asked, and the careless, dismissive tone of his voice had her moving forward without thinking, three quick steps bringing her right up to him. She grabbed his face, not gently as she usually did, but firmly, jerking his head up and forcing him to look at her, more unnerved than she could put into words at the deadened look in his eyes. Where was the Jaime she knew? The man whose eyes sparked and flashed with every emotion he felt? There was a gap between them, and the only way she knew how to hopefully bridge it was with her touch, and her words._

  
  


_“You’re not like your sister,” she said urgently, her eyes burning but dry, desperation making her words come quickly. “You’re not. You’re better than she is. You’re a good man, and you can’t save her.” She felt something in her cry out, shifting, as he seemed to return to himself for a moment, flinching away from hers when she called him a good man as if he couldn’t bear to hear it from her. He moved his gaze back up to meet hers, and the pain in them nearly sent her to her knees. “You don’t need to die with her. Stay here. Stay with me.” He was still too far away, only back for a moment before he withdrew again, and even though she held his face in her hands, she knew she wasn’t touching him. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking, tears clouding her vision. “Stay.”_

  
  


_He looked at her mouth as if trying to make sense of the desperation that had just spilled out of it, and nodded a little as he lifted his hand to grasp her wrist, his leathered thumb idly stroking the fine bones beneath it. She felt a moment of hope surge, a breathless sense of relief that she could do this, she could keep him, she could save him, and then he brought his eyes back to her and they were dead and dull again, so far removed from the man she had grown to know, the man she had grown to love, that it was like looking at a stranger. “You think I’m a good man?” he asked, his voice rough, as devoid of life as his eyes as he tugged on her hand, removing it from his jaw. Her other hand lingered for a moment, as if it knew he would soon disappear from her grasp forever, and then slid limply down as well. “I pushed a boy out of a tower window, crippled him for life, for Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands just to get back to Cersei. I would have murdered every man, woman, and child in Riverrun for Cersei.” She gasped in a breath then, unable to contain it, and watched his eyes roam over her face a moment before hardening into a tired resignation. “She’s hateful. And so am I.”_

  
  


_Her sob ripped out of her as he turned away, dismissing her and all that had transpired between them in a few words of disgust. She cried as he climbed onto his horse, cried as he spurred it into a trot, cried when he rode away without so much as a glance back at the woman he was leaving behind. She didn’t know how much time passed as she stood there in the courtyard, sobbing, only that her nose and toes grew numb, her tears leaving ice cold tracks down her cheeks. She and Jaime had said goodbye so many times, but not like this. Never like this. She didn’t know how to accept that she would never see him again, that they would never be able to put this to rights, that Jaime was riding off to his death, but only after he had rejected her and everything they had shared together._

  
  


_She stood in the courtyard for what felt like hours, letting her sobs taper off, her breathing slow down, and she forced herself to lock it away, imagining gathering the shattered bits of her heart and binding them away behind armor. She had allowed herself to hope this past moon, and that had been foolish of her. She had always known she wasn’t made for romance and love no matter how much her heart cried out for it, and this only further cemented that knowledge. She allowed herself another moment to feel the grief and agony and desolation that was ricocheting through her body, and then took a deep breath, drawing herself up._

  
  


_And then she turned to return to the castle, and her empty bed, and her duty._

  
  
  


Brienne woke up sobbing, her body heaving in her bed, her pillow soaked and sticking to her face. She had been awakened with tears more than once from these dreams, but not like this, never like this. These tears seemed unending, a flood of grief and heartbreak that she could not stem. She curled forward, shoving one hand over her mouth, and tried to silence her wails with her fist, but could not seem to stem the noise no matter how tightly she pressed.

  
Gods, the sense of loss _ripped_ through her, leaving her flayed and tender, her breath moving from gasping sobs to anguished moans. She didn’t want this. She had never wanted to experience this. The flashes of emptiness she had felt in previous dreams was nothing at all compared to this. It felt as if she had watched Jaime ride off to his death, which, she supposed, had been the case for Ser Brienne, but it felt like watching _her_ Jaime leave, so full of self-loathing he could barely look her in the eye, determined to ride back to King’s Landing and die with his sister.

  
It hurt that he had left her. It hurt to know that she had over a month of loving and being loved in return, only for it to end in a handful of words and the sound of a horse galloping away. Even as it had been happening, Ser Brienne had been confident that Ser Jaime loved her, knew that his soft eyes and heated touches couldn’t be faked, not for a solid month. Their coming together hadn’t been a rush of battle lust, or a sense of wanting his life to be different. He had been happy with her, had laughed and teased and relaxed in a way that she had never seen. She wasn’t sure of many things when it came to the whole soul memories thing, but she was sure that the love and affection between the two knights had been real.

  
What had hurt more, however, was seeing the absolute hatred that Jaime had for himself. To hold his face in her hands and feel the slow rub of his thumb on her wrist as she tried to reach him, tried to save him, and have it been for nothing. Even as he rode away, Ser Brienne hadn’t focused on the fact that he was leaving her for another woman, but rather that he was leaving her to go and die, that his hatred of himself was greater than his love for her. For all her travels and adventures and mishaps since she had set off after Lady Sansa, Brienne knew that the lady knight had always taken strength in the fact that Ser Jaime had existed somewhere in the world, that he believed in her. The idea of a world without him, without his smile or his laugh or his biting comments seemed unimaginable to her. Ser Brienne had cried not just for the loss of him in her life, but the loss of him in every aspect.

  
Brienne forced herself to sit up as her tears finally tapered off and to climb out of bed on weak and shaky legs. Forced herself to go into the bathroom and splash water on her face, pat it dry. Gods she didn’t know what to do. In a way, her past two months had been like the month the knights had spent together all those years ago, though she would admit that there was far less sex. But the sense of peace, the sense of intimacy, the comforting weight of him next to her as they relaxed or seeing his smile across the table, all of that was the same. She had grown used to all the space he had taken up in her life, had gotten accustomed to feeling like she wasn’t alone.

  
She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing her hands over her thighs, her head bowed in thought. Ser Brienne had been alone, she thought. Before and after Ser Jaime, she had been alone, and the emptiness after him had been so much harder to bear than the emptiness before. Brienne believed that the knight had found contentment in her life after Jaime, that she had found a sense of accomplishment in her work as Lord Commander, and a sense of peace at being accepted, but there had been very little happiness in her life. Little flashes of it, sure, but nothing that endured and carried her through the hard days. She had mourned Ser Jaime every single day of her life, and had never so much as looked at another man. Brienne had always gotten the sense that for some people there were many loves, and for others there was only one, and regardless of how it ended, of how it had broken her heart, for Ser Brienne it had always been Ser Jaime.

  
Brienne had only gotten quick glimpses of her ancestor’s life, but it was enough to know that she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to feel that aching emptiness inside her until the day she died, didn’t want to never have Jaime filling up all those little gaps in her heart that she hadn’t even known existed before he smiled at her. She didn’t want to be an old woman, surrounded by awards and papers, and think back with regret and what-could-have beens. The very thought terrified her, filled her with such a sense of loss that she had to take deep breaths through her nose to prevent another crying jag.

  
The alternative was terrifying too, however. As much as she didn’t want to feel that sense of regret that Ser Brienne had felt, she also really didn’t want to have her heart shattered, either. She had told Jaime the truth earlier: it unsettled her and terrified her that so much of their lives paralleled the lives of their ancestors. The idea that their souls were stuck in a constant loop of loss and devastation with one another was also one that scared her to contemplate. For all she knew, she and Jaime had found each other numerous times, in numerous lives, and he had left her broken and alone in each one. 

  
Brienne rubbed her hands over her face, wishing that her brain would just stop screaming at her so she could make sense of this. This is what she did, after all, she took theories and she expanded upon them, based on the evidence she had. The only fucking problem was that she didn’t really have evidence. She just had a gut that wouldn’t stop churning, a very confused heart, and a sense of loss that she couldn’t shake. It was like she had gone through her entire life stuck in neutral and was now thrust forward into hyperdrive. When she had met Jaime and began having the dreams, it had opened a kaleidoscope of emotions in her.

  
She walked back into her bedroom, and grabbed her phone to check the time, shocked to see that it was only a little after ten. There was no way she would make it back to sleep any time soon, not with this nasty ball of her fears and Ser Brienne’s pain tangled inside her. She needed to think, and she needed to unravel everything until it all made sense again which would probably be better handled alone. Definitely better to handle alone.

  
The problem was that she didn’t want to be alone at the moment, not with all of Ser Brienne’s memories swirling inside her. She wanted to have someone nearby just to feel some sort of connection. She wanted someone to bounce her ideas off of, someone who would force her to look at her thoughts and feelings from a new perspective. Someone who could help her make sense of all this soul memory bullshit that she was dealing with.

  
And only one person could possibly do that.

  
Brienne let out a slow breath, and then resignedly grabbed her keys.

Jaime looked completely wrecked when he opened the door to Brienne’s firm knock, face pinched, hair sticking up, though his eyes were clear enough that she knew she hadn’t woken him up. “Brienne.” Even his voice was drawn, lacking the vibrancy that usually filled it. “What are you doing here?”

  
“You said you wanted to talk,” she said, looking at him in the eyes briefly before letting her gaze skitter away. 

  
“Well, yes, I did,” he said, “I mean, I do. I just didn’t expect…”

  
“Can I come in or not?” Brienne cut him off. “Because I slept for two hours, and I know I won’t be able to sleep anymore until we just do this.”

  
“Of course, you can,” Jaime said immediately, stepping back to let her through. “You’re always welcome here, Brienne. You know that.”

  
She brushed past him and headed straight towards the living room, trying to control the energy she could feel pulsing through her body. She wasn’t nearly in control as she seemed, felt on the verge of screaming or crying or shoving him against a wall with her mouth, and she wasn’t comfortable with any of those options, not yet.

  
“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” she said once she felt him behind her. “I went home and went to sleep, and then I woke up and I just couldn’t...I couldn’t be there anymore.”

  
“Bad dream?” Jaime asked softly.

  
Brienne breathed out and reached for what little courage she had before she turned to face him. “A very bad one,” she confirmed, and forced herself to meet his eyes. “The worst one yet.”

“Me too,” he said, and she watched his throat move violently in his neck as he swallowed. “I dreamed about when he left her.”

  
Brienne’s breath rushed out of her, and she took a step back, struck by both the lingering memory of her dream, and the raw pain she saw on his face. He wasn’t just upset about what happened in Harrenhal, she could see that now. He wore the wounds of their stupid soul memories just as clearly as she did. “So did I.”

  
Jaime swallowed reflexively, his face twisting as he looked down at his bare feet. “He didn’t even say goodbye,” she forced herself to say, ignoring the part of her brain that screamed at her to go back home. It felt like she held a live bomb in her hand, as if one wrong word could set it off and rip through the room, spraying them with the shrapnel of the past. “She woke up alone, and she knew. He had been distant all day except that night in bed. He was fully present there, for hours. He loved her like he was possessed, and she thought it meant he was shaking off whatever was haunting him. But it was just him saying goodbye without being brave enough to say it. She didn’t deserve that, Jaime. If nothing else, she deserved to be told goodbye. They always said goodbye.” 

  
“I know,” he told her, and his voice was so hoarse that she wondered if he woke up crying too. “He was a coward sometimes, Brienne. He knew he had to leave, and he knew she would try to stop him, and he just didn’t want to face it.” He shrugged. “That might not have been a good reason, but it was his reason. He didn’t want to look her in the eye and tell her that she had been wrong about him. That the man who had knighted her, and the man who had loved her had been as despicable as everyone said. He faced down a dragon and an army of fucking zombies, but he couldn’t face her.”

  
“So, what, that makes it okay?” she demanded, her voice shriller than she would like, filling the space between them, “He had spent the last month in her bed, and not secretively, and what? He just couldn’t stand to look her in the eye and tell her that she wasn’t enough for him after all? That he would rather die with his sister than live another day with her?” He jerked then, his head shooting up to glare at her incredulously. “He _destroyed_ her, Jaime. She _never_ got over him. She thought about him for the next month, and the next year, and ten years down the road. She thought about him the day she was made Lord Commander, and the day she knighted Podrick, and she thought about him in the last days of her life. And even though she believed that he really loved her, there was always a quiet voice in the back of her mind that said he didn’t love her enough. She was never _enough_.”

  
“Brienne.”

  
“You said it earlier in the car, remember? Not womanly enough for a husband and kids. Too much of a woman to be a knight. And apparently not enough anything to make Ser Jaime choose her over death. It hurt her that he left her for Queen Cersei, but it fucking _wrecked_ her that when he rode away the night, he was going off to _die_!” Her chest was heaving now, tears streaming down her face, and she had the sudden urge to shake him. “I don’t give a fuck that he didn’t want to look her in the eye and hurt her. She deserved better.”

  
“Of course, she did!” he burst out as he stepped forward, and she nearly stepped back out of instinct, but held her ground. “Brienne, he knew she deserved better way before he ever touched her for the first time. He wasn’t good enough to saddle her horse, not in his eyes. You think he didn’t _know_ that? He had been a disappointment every moment of his life. He failed at nearly everything. He failed his father, he failed his sister, he failed his King. Even when he did something good, like saving the city, he did it in a fucked-up way. He set his little brother free and secured the first step of his father’s death. And he took Ser Brienne into bed and he loved her openly, and then he crushed her heart. You’re right. She _did_ deserve better, and he wanted to make sure she got it. He _tried_ and guess what? He failed again.” 

She shook her head, not sure what he was saying, but viciously pleased that he was just as angry as her. She didn’t want him placid and apologetic, soft and remorseful. She wanted him as pissed off and out of control as she was if only so she didn’t feel like a fool. “He tried to make sure she got better by humiliating her? By breaking her heart and leaving her crying in the courtyard? How in the fuck was that better, Jaime?”

  
“Well she did end up the most respected knight in the Six Kingdoms,” Jaime said irritably, and he looked so pouty and cute that it just fueled her anger even more. “The history books can’t get enough of her, Brienne. She completely changed the way the King’s Guard worked and died without even a hint of shame attached to her. It could have been worse. She could be remembered as a sister fucking Kingslayer who let down every single person that was ever stupid enough to depend on him. I’d say you got the better end of the deal.”

  
“ _She_ got the better end of the deal, you ass,” she seethed, and curled her hand into a fist when he firmed his jaw, jutting his chin out. “And she didn’t, I’ve already told you that! Sure, she earned the respect of people and history remembers her kindly, but none of that fucking matters because I know the truth. She wasn’t happy, Jaime. Not for most of her life. She made her peace with her life and her duties, but she never made peace with him leaving, with him choosing his sister and death over life and her. At least he didn’t have to fucking go through every day, year after year, knowing he wasn’t enough for the _one_ person he wanted to be enough for!”

  
“He didn’t leave her to go and fuck off with his sister,” Jaime shouted, and he had finally hit the full force of his anger, shoulders squared and eyes flashing, their bodies shifting in tune with one another. “Damn it, Brienne, he was _responsible_ for Cersei, don’t you see that? Everything she was, he encouraged. Everything she did, he assisted. He said yes, over and over and over again, even when he felt like saying no. He knew she was looking for a way to kill King Robert, and he said nothing because he wanted her all to himself. He knew she had blown up the Sept, killed nearly every single enemy they had, nearly wiped out entire families, and what did he do? _Nothing_. He had shoved a sword in his King’s back for nearly doing it, thrown away every scrap of honor he had in the eyes of the world, but when she _actually_ did it? He did _nothing_. Worse than nothing. He continued to be her fucking tool, killing who she said to kill, attacking where she said to attack, and just bumbled along like an idiot until he finally saw her for who she was. And not because of some horrible thing she did to anyone else, Brienne. But because she was leaving him out of plans, because she was making it clear that she didn’t value him. He was weak and selfish, and he tried to right that, but he failed at that too.”

“He could have done it,” Brienne growled. “All he had to do was stay, Jaime. She stood there crying, begging, and he still got on that horse, and left. She never cried in front of anyone, she didn’t break that way, and he broke her. He didn’t fail by chance, he _chose_ to, the minute he chose to go and die with his sister.”

  
“You’re not getting what I mean,” he bit out. “He didn’t leave Ser Brienne because he was so in love with his sister, or because he didn’t value her. He left because he had a duty, an obligation, because he had done the wrong thing for _years_ , and he had helped put his sister in the position she was in. He couldn’t stay there, buried in the snow with Ser Brienne, and ignore his responsibilities. He had sworn to see justice through, and he had broken that vow over and over again. So he left her, crying in the courtyard, and he went to face his fate, not because he _wanted_ to, but because he _had_ to. He knew Cersei and Aerys both had wildfire planted around the city, and he knew what would happen if the Dragon Queen attacked. He _wanted_ to be a man that was worthy of Ser Brienne, and he couldn’t do that and ignore what was happening in the South, no matter how much he wanted to stay.”

  
“What are you saying?” Brienne asked, shaking her head. “What do you mean he didn’t want to go?”

  
“Brienne, he _loved_ her. If he could have just had what he wanted, he would have stayed in Winterfell. He used to dream about it when he was walking around, waiting for her to finish her duties, or clearing the debris from the battle. He’d imagine them getting married and going to Tarth together. He had seen it once; did you know that? When he was on the way to Dorne, one of the sailors pointed it out, and even just that...it felt like Lady Brienne was with him. So that’s what he wanted, Brienne. He wanted to get married, and live on that fucking island, and have a herd of children, or however many Ser Brienne would have allowed him to put in her. But that was a dream, and it wasn’t possible.”

  
“It _was_ possible,” she insisted, feeling a surge of exhausted anger. “If he had just _stayed_.”

“It _wasn’t_ ,” he insisted right back, stepping into her, his face inches from her. She took a moment to let herself be annoyed by how handsome he was, even in his anger...she was certain she was flushed and blotchy rather than bright-eyed and glowing as he was. “He couldn’t live there if he didn’t do everything possible to stop that city from burning, Brienne. He was prepared to do _anything_. And then he was captured, and he thought...fuck. He thought maybe it was the gods finally stepping in, telling him that he didn’t have to fix this, that this didn’t have to be his fight. And then Tyrion came in, and basically shoved him towards the Red Keep with a plan to save their sister, never even realizing that saving her wasn’t Ser Jaime’s goal for once. He just wanted it _over_ , Brienne, no matter how that had to happen, no matter what he had to do, even if what he had to do was something he had never once thought he would be capable of.” Jaime’s voice was raw and ragged, and he was practically vibrating in front of her. “He knew he was probably dead, one way or another, but there was still a tiny piece of him that hoped he would be able to live. And when the Keep started falling, and he knew he wouldn’t, yes, he hugged his sister close because she was his sister and she was scared, and he knew it didn’t matter anymore what he had planned on doing. The war was about to be over for both of them. But he didn’t kiss her, he didn’t tell her he loved her, he didn’t treat her as a lover. He set his plans aside so he could hold her as a brother, and thought of Ser Brienne, and accepted his fate. So don’t stand there and tell me what was possible, or what he felt, or what he wanted because you don’t _know_.”

Brienne looked at him, both breathing heavily, as she examined his face, looking for any trace of deception. He looked angry and frustrated, still emotionally raw, but she knew when Jaime was dancing around the truth and when he was being sincere. And in this moment, he was being nothing but honest with her. 

  
She turned away from him, unable to look at him as she tried to come to terms with what he had said. Knowing that Ser Jaime hadn’t left Ser Brienne because he hadn’t cared enough for her eased the sting of rejection she felt for the knight, but it didn’t erase all the pain the woman had felt for the rest of her days. It didn’t stop Brienne from still feeling the sting of it, not after all the memories she had experienced. That wasn’t Jaime’s fault, however, and she knew that. It wasn’t fair to be mad at him for what his ancestor did, any more than she would want him to hold a grudge for the actions of hers. She could be angry at Ser Jaime, and heartbroken over what he had done, but she couldn’t take it out on _her_ Jaime, especially not after all the time she had snapped at him about mixing the two of them up with their past counterparts.

“He should have told her,” she said quietly. “It would have saved her years of mental and emotional torture.”

  
“He should have,” Jaime agreed immediately, and his voice had softened too now that they had weathered the worst of that storm. “He knew she would insist on coming with him, though, perhaps even doing it herself, and he couldn’t risk that, Brienne. He would rather have had her alive and hating him than dead because she loved him.”

  
She nodded and then forced herself to turn and face him again. “She didn’t hate him, Jaime. She couldn’t ever bring herself to, no matter how much easier it would have been. It looks like you were right from the start. They were a love story, but a fucking tragic one.” She shook her head a little, trying to clear it, and then forced a smile. “Well, looks like we worked on the book ending a little earlier than we planned,” she said, her eyes darting to his and then away again. “So I suppose that’s one benefit of coming over to scream at you for things you have no control over.”

  
He laughed, a genuine, rolling sound that soothed the ache in her chest. “Yeah, Ser Jaime rides off to save the day, breaking the heart of the best woman he had ever known, and then somehow survives and comes back to grovel for her forgiveness before begging her to marry him, and sweep him away to Tarth.” She could feel the smile in his voice, the soft one that lit up his eyes and made her want to bury her nose into his neck, the one that gave her the courage to look him in the eyes finally. He was watching her carefully, his smile as soft as she imagined, but his eyes intent. “We can do that, Brienne,” he said, and now his voice was low and dark, a sharp contrast to his smile. “We can give them the happy ending they deserved.”

  
She felt her belly knot up, and absently rubbed her arms as goosebumps appeared. “Yes, we can,” she agreed, and then looked past him to the door. “But tomorrow as we planned. I should go, and let you get some sleep. Try to get some myself.” She started to walk past him, forced smile in place, then jerked to a stop when he sidestepped, placing himself directly in her path.

  
“That’s not the only thing we have to talk about, Brienne,” he said quietly. “We’ve dealt with their issues, but now we need to deal with ours.” 

  
She lifted her head, refusing to look at the door any longer, not when he was directly in front of her, his expression somehow a mixture of hopeful and defiant. “It’s late, Jaime. And we’ve had an emotional night. We can do this later.”

  
“I don’t want to do this later,” he said firmly. “I want to do it right now.”

  
“Well I don’t,” she said just as firmly, and stepped around him. “You’re coming to my house tomorrow; we can talk then.”

  
“Have you ever run away from a fight?” his voice stopped her far more effectively than his body blocking had. She slowly turned her head to look at him, infuriated that he would channel those words in this moment.

  
“Is that what you want, Jaime?” she asked slowly, deliberately. “You want us to fight?”

  
“I want us to _talk_ ,” he said, and she could hear the frustration in every word. “But every time I think we’re about to, or I start to ease it in that direction, you slam your walls up and shut the door in my face.”

  
“Because I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  
“Whatever you want to,” he told her, throwing his hands up a little. “Anything that’s real. Just let me in, Brienne, and let’s finally fucking say what we need to say. I’m tired of dancing around it, and I’m tired of avoiding it.”

  
“And I’m tired and want to go home,” she said.

  
“See? Right fucking there, that’s exactly what I mean. I know you’re tired, so am I. But I also know that if you go home, you’re not going to sleep. You’re going to stay up and think about what Ser Jaime did and why he did it, and you’re going to talk yourself out of ever having this conversation with me. She deserved to be told the truth, but damn it, so do I, and so do you.”

  
“Stop dragging them into this,” she snapped.

  
“Me? You plop them down between us like a forcefield any time I start to get to close. I won’t carry his sins on my back, Brienne, and I don’t expect you to carry hers.” She sucked in a breath, his words hitting a bit too close to what she had been thinking earlier. “You said that she begged him to stay, and he didn’t, but now it’s _my_ turn. _I’m_ asking _you_ to _please stay_.”

  
Brienne glared at him, furious that she had been boxed into this corner. Jaime’s eyes were shining, just as full of desperation as Ser Brienne’s had been in the courtyard, and she already knew she couldn’t walk away from that. Not when he looked like that and was pleading with her to not go. “Fine,” she bit out, moving to the kitchen with long, angry strides. “You want to talk, Jaime? Talk.”


	8. Can You Feel My Heart Again?

Jaime followed Brienne into the kitchen, his heart thundering in his ears, his body still tensed from the dream he had, and the emotional surge of arguing with her. He watched silently as she opened his fridge and bent down, tracking the line of her spine and the curve of her ass with greedy eyes as she reached inside and snagged two bottles of water, and then darting his eyes away as she straightened. “Here,” she said, and he looked back just in time to catch the bottle she tossed to him. He held it in his hand, and just watched as she twisted hers open and chugged.

They stood another moment, watching each other, and then Brienne heaved out a sigh. “Well?” she asked irritably. “You wanted to talk...talk.”

Jaime set his bottle down on the counter, rubbing his hand over his sweatpants. “I had hoped that you were going to start it off.”

“I wanted to go home and go to sleep, Jaime,” she returned, her voice sharp and slapping. “You insisted we have this conversation tonight. I think that means you get to start it.”

He nodded, shifting his weight as he tried to figure out where to start. “Why did you pull away?” he asked. “I guess that’s the main one that matters.”

Brienne shifted her eyes away, and then brought them back to him almost defiantly. “Because of what you said.”

“Because I said stay with me.”

She cleared her throat, nodding. “Yes.”

“But you hadn’t had the dream yet, about when he left her.”

“No.”

“So then why did you run away?”

“I didn’t _run away_ ,” she glared at him. “I pulled back and told you we should go, and then I left.”

"Yes, Brienne, that’s what I said: you ran away.” He knew his voice was biting, could hear the undercurrent of mockery in it. “What I asked was why.”

He could have sworn she cursed him under her breath, her eyes twin spears of blue lightning. He found it an oddly appropriate image...he surely felt like he was caught in a storm. “I _left_ because it felt like someone had jabbed an ice pick into my skull,” she ground out. “And kicked me in my stomach. I felt sick and I needed to get out of that room.”

“Because of what I said,” he repeated.

“I assume so.”

“So not because you didn’t want me to kiss you, but just because you had some sort of physical reaction to those words because of our soul memories.” 

It was a statement, not a question, but he wasn’t surprised when she answered it anyway. “I didn’t say I wanted you to kiss me.”

"Well then I guess _that’s_ the most important question, Brienne,” he said testily. “Did you want me to kiss you?”

She inhaled sharply, but he saw the way her eyes flicked down to his lips, and he held his breath, knowing they were on the edge of something, and wanting to shove both of them over it. 

“Part of me did,” she admitted, and where their argument revolving around their ancestors had varied from loud shouts to soft whispers, this time her voice was clear and steady. Jaime took two quick steps towards her, crowding into her space before she held a firm hand, pressing her fingertips into his chest to stop him. “I only said part of me, Jaime.”

“I can work with that,” he said, and even to his ears his voice sounded dark and insistent. “Let me kiss you, Brienne, and I’ll see if I can’t convince the other parts of you that you want me to.”

A brief smile flickered on her face, giving him a flare of hope before it slid away again. “I don’t want to be your stand-in, Jaime.”

Jaime leaned back at that; his brows furrowed in confusion. “My what?”

“Your stand-in.” Brienne pushed softly with her fingers, backing him up another step. “I get it, I really do, but that’s bound to end badly, and I don’t want to go through that.”

“You get what?” he asked slowly.

"Why you feel the way you do. Why you want to kiss me. It’s...compelling. I get that.”

“Yes, you are,” he nodded slowly, but still felt as if he had stepped wrong and was scrambling to find his feet. “But I don’t know what you mean about being a stand-in. You’re not a stand-in, Brienne. It’s your place.”

“No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “We’ve never talked much about it- talked around it is more accurate. And I understand that. It’s extremely uncomfortable for me, and I’m sure for you.”

“It’s definitely made me uncomfortable a few times,” Jaime muttered. “Brienne. What didn’t we talk about? What made you uncomfortable? Me?”

“No, the dreams,” she said, and he watched with delight as her cheeks slowly filled with color. Gods he just wanted his hands on them, wanted to feel her skin warm underneath his palms. 

“We’ve talked about the dreams,” Jaime said absently, more focused on the way her blush was spreading down her neck. “In depth. A lot.”

“Damn it, Jaime, are you being deliberately obtuse? Because if you’re not going to take this seriously, I don’t understand why you insisted I stay for it.”

His eyes shot back to hers at that, belligerent. “I’m not being _deliberately obtuse_ , Brienne,” he snapped. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about because once again you insist on dancing around it instead of just fucking _telling_ me what you’re thinking.”

“The sex dreams, Jaime!” And her voice wasn’t calm and steady now, it was loud and full of indignation, quivering from the force of her emotions. “I know I’ve had plenty of them, and I assume you did too since you were so casual when I said I was sure they had been lovers. And they were intense, I get that. They’re a lot to deal with because you can feel them physically and emotionally, and it’s overwhelming. I get that too. Trust me, I get it.”

“You’re still dancing, Brienne,” he said. “Just say what you mean. What does that have to do with you not being my stand in?”

“Why do I have to spell this out?” she asked, and he could hear the frustration in her voice. “You’re a smart man, Jaime, and this shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“Well forgive me if I don’t understand what one thing has to do with the other,” he snapped. “Yes, I’ve had dreams about Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne having sex. A lot. I think they had a lot of sex, from what I could tell. They practically spent their short time together fucking. And I want to kiss you. I wanted to kiss you at Harrenhal, and I want to kiss you right now, and only partly so you’ll stop talking in circles and making no sense.”

“And you don’t see the correlation between the two?” she snapped right back, irritation lacing her voice. “You don’t see that you probably want to kiss me because you’ve spent the past two months reliving Ser Jaime’s memories in your dreams?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, Jaime,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not a difficult stretch. I know I don’t look exactly like Ser Brienne, but I look enough like her that it’s understandable there would be some transference of feelings. And I don’t expect you to actually want _me_ , but you shouldn’t expect me to be okay with being used as a fill in for those dreams. That’s not fair to me.”

She tried to turn away from him, but he grabbed her elbow, to spin her back, fury lashing through him in a hot and wild bolt. “Not fair to _you_?” he spat, angry and hurt all at once. “I have never, not one fucking time, not been fair to you, Brienne. But you sure as hell aren’t being fair to me right now! Did you hear what you just said? I don’t know if you insulted me or yourself more, but either way, fuck that.” He stepped forward, his grip on her elbow still strong and unrelenting. “You think I want to kiss you because I’ve had dreams about our ancestors fucking? That the only way I could want you is because I’ve spent the past month dreaming about how it felt to touch someone who kinda looks like you, and kinda acts like you?”

“I’m not saying that’s the _only_ way,” Brienne said, trying to yank her arm away while Jaime held fast. “I’m saying it’s the most likely way, and that I understand, but that I’m not going to do that with you.”

“Do what with me? Have sex? Fuck?” He watched her eyes darken slightly as she swallowed, her eyes once again straying to his mouth, and wanted to shake her. She wanted him too, just as much as he wanted her, and still insisted on shoving these ridiculous barriers in between them. It would almost be amusing if it wasn’t so frustrating, if he didn’t feel like he was going to lose his mind before he ever got a chance to put his hands all over that long, strong body. “Fall in love? Take a chance? Which one, Brienne? What are you not going to do with me?”

“All of it!” she yelled. “Any of it! You don’t want _me_ , Jaime. You just want what they had and are shoving me in her place because of those damn dreams.” She wrenched her arm away again, and this time he let her go as another wave of fury spiked in him. 

“You too, huh?” he asked bitterly. “Go on, Brienne, please tell me more about what _I_ feel, and what _I_ think. I’m used to that, after all. Poor Jaime, too short sighted, too stupid to actually _know_ what he wants, so we better go ahead and steer him in the right direction. I dealt with that shit the entire first part of my life, Brienne. For most of my life. I didn’t think I’d have to ever deal with it again, especially not from you. You _know_ me, Brienne. I thought you did. I thought we knew each other better than this.”

“Jaime,” Brienne said tiredly, pressing her hands to her eyes. “You do know me, and I don’t think you’re stupid or shortsighted, I just think you’re swept up in all of this. You’ve become my best friend in these past couple of months, but it isn’t a coincidence that you suddenly wanted to kiss me at Harrenhal. You were literally recounting what you said was a pivotal moment in his life after weeks of having sex dreams about someone who resembles me. I don’t blame you, I don’t. I just don’t want to take a chance of either of us getting hurt by it.”

“Of course we could get hurt,” Jaime said, exasperated. “That’s what life _is_ , Brienne. It’s all a fucking gamble. I can’t promise we won’t get hurt, but for me the potential reward outweighs the risk. I am willing to take the chance that you will absolutely crush my heart and leave me broken if it means I might also have the chance at being happy with you. And I hate to shoot holes in what I’m sure you’ve put a lot of thought into, but I didn’t suddenly want to kiss you at Harrenhal. I just decided to finally act on it. I’ve wanted to kiss you from about sixteen minutes into your talk on the day we met. I wanted to kiss you the entire time I’ve known you, before I ever had the first flashback to them, and way before I ever had the knowledge that Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne had definitely fucked.”

Brienne’s hands dropped slowly to her sides, her eyes widening and her mouth parting as she stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“How could you not tell?” Jaime asked exasperated. “I’m not known for my subtlety, Brienne, gods know you’ve pointed that out to me a hundred times. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you standing at the front of that lecture hall, moving back and forth in those ridiculous heels, fully in control of yourself and everyone in there, confident and strong and sexy as hell. I wanted to kiss you in your office that first time when you slid those glasses on and started to read, and inspired about a dozen ridiculous fantasies that I still hope we get to make come true eventually. I wanted to kiss you when you argued with me about whether or not Lady Brienne fell in love with Ser Jaime before she left King’s Landing. I wanted to kiss you when you laughed so hard at the movie theater that you nearly got us kicked out. I wanted to kiss you when we were at Niko’s and you paid for that young couple’s dinner, even though you had just eaten pineapple on your pizza, and I’m fairly certain I would have been able to taste it if I did. I wanted to kiss you when you fell asleep on my shoulder when we watched that very monotone documentary about the history of Winterfell, and you snuffled in your sleep, and left a patch of drool on my shirt. I wanted to kiss you in Harrenhal because you were standing there, staring at me with those stupid eyes of yours that always make me want to beg you to look at me forever. I wanted to kiss you two months ago, and two weeks ago, and two hours ago, and I want to kiss you right now. Don’t stand there and tell me that I don’t, that I’m mixing you up with a woman who has been dead for ages. I want to kiss _you_.”

His voice had risen with each word until he was practically yelling at her in his kitchen, which was probably not the most romantic way to declare his desires, but it was what he had. Brienne simply stared at him, her breath coming quick, her eyes wide and searching on his face. Jaime waited for her to say something, but she just watched him as if she were trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind his rant. “Gods, say something, Brienne. Say _anything_.”

She continued to watch him, and Jaime nearly growled at her in frustration, so tired of waiting. He felt like he had been waiting to kiss her for a lot longer than the time he had known her, as if somewhere in the back of his mind he had always known she was out there if he could only find her. He wondered if that was what his quiet discontentment had always been, if Ser Jaime’s knowledge of Ser Brienne had been lying dormant inside him, just waiting for _his_ Brienne to come into his life. To be quite honest, he didn’t care if his connection with her was forged on soul memories and ancestors long dead, not more than he cared that it just existed, at least. But he refused to believe that his wanting her, that his loving her, had anything to do with anyone but the two of them, right here in _this_ lifetime. “Brienne,” he said again, desperate now. “Just tell me...do you believe that I want you? Not Ser Brienne, but _you_?”

“I think I do,” she said slowly. “I thought earlier that I knew your face when you were being honest, and I still believe that.”

“Okay,” he breathed out, taking a step closer. “Have you ever wanted me to kiss you during the past two months, any part of you, other than at Harrenhal?”

“Not often,” she said, and he felt his heart sink, his chest tight, before she smiled. “Just every time I’ve been with you.”

“Oh,” he said dumbly. “So... can I kiss you now?”

It was Brienne who stepped forward with her eyes glowing and her cheeks flushed pink, lifting one hand to press against his chest, the other settling on his jaw, stroking his beard slowly. His hands lifted of their own accord, palming her hips through her thin sleep pants. “Or I can kiss you,” she told him, her eyes darting down to his lips before catching his gaze again. 

“Oh,” he said again, and then couldn’t say anything because Brienne fit her body against his and dipped down to cover his mouth with her own. 

_Finally,_ his heart whispered, delighting in the press of her body against his, the gentle exploration of her lips as they slid over his own. Then she angled her head, her mouth opening and her tongue stroking, and every thought in his brain burned away as the kiss deepened and stretched, moving from tender to hungry.

Gods the feel of her after all this time, the long stretch of muscle under his hands, the little growl that rumbled out of her throat when his teeth tugged on her bottom lip, the clench of her fingers in his hair, tugging firmly, sending a bolt of sensation down his spine and into his belly. They should have been doing this for months, for years, for lifetimes. It was the only thing that could possibly make sense for either of them.

He didn’t realize they had moved until she grunted into his mouth as her back slammed into the fridge, sending papers and magnets scattering to the floor. “Jaime,” she gasped, ripping her mouth away from his to suck in a deep breath. “We’re making a mess.”

“I don’t give a damn,” he growled, setting his teeth against the tendon of her neck, sucking the soft skin over it into his mouth. She cried out, her hips rocking into his, and he groaned, grinding back against her as he slid his tongue to her collarbone, depositing little nips and kisses along it, one hand yanking at her tee shirt to give him better access. “Brienne, please,” he murmured into her skin, his mouth moving with a mind of its own, tasting her ear, her jaw, his hand still tugging at the stretched-out collar of her tee. “Just kiss me.” And then his mouth was on hers again, hungry and ferocious now, darkly pleased when she met him with equal fervor, lips and tongue going stroke for stroke, her hands pulling at his hair, sliding under his shirt, down to his ass to pull him further into her as she widened her legs.

He rocked against her mindlessly, shuddering with pleasure when he realized how much he could _feel_ through their thin pants. His cock was hard and aching as he rutted against her in desperation, slightly concerned he would come in his pajamas before he ever got the chance to be inside her. “Brienne,” he bit out, then groaned when her collar gave way with a loud rip, splitting down to the top of her breasts. “Oh fuck.” He slid his arms underneath her ass then, and lifted her off her feet, pressing her tighter to the fridge, bringing her breasts level with his face so he could suck one wonderfully hard nipple into his mouth through the cotton.

She let out a moan, her fingers pulling his hair harder, her back arching to force even more of her in his mouth. “Jaime,” she panted. “Please, please.” Her hips rolled in his grip, trying to find something to grind against, her toes curling into his calves as she kicked her flip flops off. 

“You feel so good, Brienne,” he murmured, lowering her back down to the ground then slipping his leg in between hers. Gods, she was scorching against him, leaving a smear of wet heat on his pajamas as she rocked her hips. He pushed back, pressing and releasing, his mouth clamped to her throat. “There you go,” he whispered into her skin, teeth scraping down the long column of her neck. “You can have whatever you want, Brienne. Take it.”

He felt her rhythm stutter slightly before she was shifting again, all but riding his leg as they rocked and groaned together, pressed to his fridge. “Jaime,” she gasped before she lowered his mouth back to hers. “I’m so close, please just…” she trailed off as her back arched, her body surging against his, trying to find the release that hovered just out of her reach.

“I got you,” he told her, panting against her collarbone now. “Just hold on, and let me,” he muttered, shifting one of his hands from where it still gripped the back of her thigh to press against the seam of her pajamas, feeling the line of fabric catch on her clit. The noise she let out was filthy and desperate, and he eagerly moved up to jam his hand into the front of her pants, nearly whimpering himself when he realized she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath them. His fingers slid through the soft tangle of curls, reaching lower to touch where she was so hot and so wet that his fingers slid against her easily. Wasting no time, he slid two fingers into her up to the knuckle, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit, and barely had time to marvel over how tight she was before her back was arching again, his name spilling out of her lips low and broken as she clamped down around him, her orgasm ripping through her.

Jaime was fairly certain he was gazing at her like an awestruck fool, but he couldn’t fix his face to save his life. Some women looked soft after coming, and some women looked wrecked, but Brienne managed to combine both of those, all coated with a smug layer of triumph. She looked like a conquering warrior, flushed with victory and satisfaction, and all he wanted to do was break her apart again and again to see if it always made her look like that. 

Her eyes met his and Jaime surged forward, pressing his mouth to hers again, tongue and teeth sliding against hers without any thought of finesse. He just _wanted_ , his blood felt hot and sluggish in his veins, his head clouded with his desire, and he realized he was rocking his hips against the sharp jut of her hipbone desperately, mumbling her name into her mouth. When they broke apart, he stared into her eyes again, pressing his forehead against hers briefly before easing back to slide his fingers out of her pants, helpless to resist circling her clit one last time just to feel her tremble against him, a breathy moan caught in her throat. Then, watching her, he lifted his hand to his mouth and slipped them inside his mouth, sucking her flavor from the pads of his fingers.

“Fuck, Jaime,” she breathed, her eyes flaring again, going from smug and lazy to urgent in the blink of an eye.

“That’s the plan,” he agreed, then covered her laugh with his mouth, nipping at her lips with his teeth.

“Bedroom?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Too far,” he told her, and then he was tugging her pants down quickly, moving his hands to her top when she began to step out of them. “Hands up,” he said, and she raised her arms for him to lift her ragged shirt over her head, leaving her standing bare before him, pink cheeked and rumpled, her eyes still gleaming with satisfaction. “Fuck,” he said, letting his eyes roam over every single long muscle and curve of skin. "You’re perfect.” And then he was wrapping his arms around her to spin her to the table tucked away on the side, urging her up on the surface.

“Jaime!” she exclaimed, and now she looked scandalized. “You eat here!”

“Why yes I do,” he purred, mainly to see her blush. He stepped between her legs, kissing her hungrily as his hand trailed from her collarbone down to her sternum, pausing between her breasts so that he could feel the rapid tattoo of her heart against his palm. “I have a feeling you’re going to be my favorite meal, Brienne.”

“Oh gods, just stop talking,” she groaned, and then yelped when he bent forward to cover her nipple with his mouth, sucking on it in long pulls, his teeth gliding against the edge of it as he lifted his hand to the other one, enjoying the rough slide of his callouses against her smooth skin. He loved the way her hands felt in his hair, her nails dragging against his scalp as she pulled him closer, her back curving as she grunted and groaned above him.

“You’re loud,” he said, pulling off her nipple with a loud, wet plop. 

“Wanna see if you can make me even louder?” she asked, and he grinned, delighted. He had seen glimpses of the sly and playful Brienne in the two months that he had known her, but hadn’t been sure if he would see her here, like this. He enjoyed her teasing, her subtly dirty humor, and looked forward to her using it to torture him, to challenge him for hopefully years to come.

“Oh, I bet I can,” he said, as he dragged his hands down her sides, his thumbs pressing into her hip bones before sliding against her thighs. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

“You have too many clothes on,” she said, jerking her chin at him, her brow arching. 

“Easy fix,” he said, and whipped his shirt over his head with one hand while the other snagged the band of his PJs and yanked them down impatiently. In a matter of seconds, he stood naked before her, and couldn’t help but feel the low curl of pride and satisfaction in his belly as her eyes roamed over his body, looking very pleased with what she saw. “Like what you see?” he asked, kicking his pants away.

“Don’t be insufferable, Jaime,” she said, as if it were possible for him to be anything else. Before he could respond she lifted her hand to her mouth, licking from the heel of her hand across her palm to the tips of her very long fingers. Jaime’s hands dug into her thighs, momentarily concerned he would come all over the table at the sight of her pink tongue sliding between her fingers. Then she reached out to wrap one large, strong hand around his cock, and he fell forward, thankful she was strong enough to brace against, panting against her throat.

“Oh fuck, Brienne, please,” he moaned, waves of pleasure sliding over him, his hips snapping against her as she stripped his cock in a steady, firm grasp. “You feel so good, knew you’d feel this good.”

Her mouth was moving across the side of his face, never staying in one place long, gliding from his ear across his cheekbone down to his chin. Her lips were tender, but her hand was anything but. Jaime felt too many things at once, too many to keep up with. He felt loved and cherished, he felt desired, he felt more like himself than he ever had before. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, wanted to let her hold him and keep him safe, wanted to kiss her and love her and bury himself in her body. He struggled for control, his breathing ragged, and mustered up the focus to say, “Stop, stop.” She removed her hand at once, jerking it back as if she had hurt him, and he hurried to correct her, “No, it’s fine, it’s perfect. Too perfect. I just don’t want to come in your hand, Brienne. At least not this time. Some other time, sure. Any time, really. Anywhere you want.” He was rambling now, could hear it spilling into the room, and wasn’t quite sure how to stop. 

Brienne, thankfully, knew just how to stop him, with her mouth and her tongue, and her hands stroking over his bare chest, her thumb brushing against his nipple and causing his body to jerk. “What were you wanting this time, Jaime?”

Jaime inhaled sharply, trying to find some semblance of control, aware that he was on the verge of making a fool of himself. “I want to see if I can make you come with my mouth,” he said desperately. “But later. I promise. Right now I want to fuck you. Brienne, please…”

She spread her legs further, tugging him close until his hip bones were digging into her inner thigh, and he groaned at the feel of her, so hot and wet and close to him. She kissed him, her mouth hungry and demanding, sucking on his tongue and nipping at his lips as she wrapped her hand around his cock again, bringing him to where she was hot and wet and ready. She held him steady in her grasp as she rocked her hips against him, gasping into his mouth when the head of his cock notched over her swollen clit. “Jaime,” she moaned, repeating the motion again and again, gliding him easily over her from where they were both hot and leaking. 

“Fuck,” he ground out, looking down to where Dr. Brienne Tarth was using him as her own personal sex toy. “Brienne, I can’t.” 

“Okay,” she gasped back, dragging the blunted tip of him down from her clit, both of them shuddering at the sensation. “Do you need a condom? I’m safe.”

“Me too,” he panted against her mouth. “Can I…”

She answered by pressing him against her as she rolled her hips forward, sliding his cock just inside her.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned and then took over, thrusting forward until he was buried inside her, surrounded by her. “Brienne,” he whispered, then sucked in a lungful of air, fighting desperately for control, already on the verge of coming apart at the sensation of finally being inside her.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, wrapping her long, long legs around his hips, crossing at the small of his back. “Just fuck me, Jaime. I’m sure I’ll catch up.”

Grateful, he braced his palms on the table, and began to fuck her desperately, in short quick strokes, mindless of anything except for how she felt around him. She was perfect, this was perfect, the stretch of her around his cock, the way her thighs flexed at his hips, dragging him in even tighter, her grunts and groans in his ear, his name broken and pleading in that voice. It had never been like this before, knew it never could be again unless it was with her.

His hips snapped into hers furiously, fucking her harder, one hand lifting to press where they were joined, coating his fingers so he could rub and press and circle on her clit. “Brienne,” he panted against her mouth, unable to even maintain a kiss. “Please, I can’t.” He knew he wasn’t going to last long, could feel his orgasm already building in his belly, the base of his spine. “It’s so good, you’re perfect, please just…” 

“Jaime,” her name sounded as if it had been ripped from her throat, her head falling back as she moaned. He could feel her body tensing against his, surging forward to meet him, the sound of slapping fresh and desperate grunts filling his kitchen. She was close, but not close enough. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt his body reaching its limit, pressing against her clit desperately, as he buried himself even deeper. “Oh!” she cried, and tightened just a bit, making him groan in response.

“Please,” he gasped. “Brienne.”

“Jaime,” she whispered back. “My Jaime.”

His vision whitened as he thrust twice more, wrapping his arms around her hips to hold her tightly as he lifted up on his toes, going as deeply into her as he possibly could. He knew he yelled when his release struck, as it ripped through his body and he poured himself into her, his body shaking and twitching as he slumped forward, his mouth open and panting on her collarbone. Jaime simply lay against her, his legs and arms weak, his heart thundering, trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. He felt her slide her hands into his hair, stroking him, and had to swallow against the sudden surge of emotion he felt, feeling ridiculous and cared for as his cock slowly softened inside her. 

“Sorry,” he said finally, pulling back to look at her. She was glowing, naked on his kitchen table, still full of him, and smiling softly. “I’m not usually that quick,” he told her with a weak smile. “I promise I can do better.”

“That was already pretty good,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve never had sex with anyone on a table.”

He grinned a little, then slid a hand in between them. “Well, you should at least get to have an orgasm out of it, then,” he said. “What do you prefer...hand or mouth?”

“Hand now,” she told him, eyes dark. “Mouth later.”

“Deal,” he promised, sliding out of her so that he could ease his hand between her legs, cupping her cunt where she was wet and slippery against his fingers. His ego was mollified that it didn’t take long, at least. In less than two minutes her body was bowing back, his name echoing in the room as she rocked against his hand, and shook and shattered and left him feeling slightly wrecked as well. 

They stayed there in the kitchen, sticky and sweaty, as their breathing slowly came back into control. Neither of them spoke for a long time, their hands sliding and stroking any patch of skin they could reach, trading slow and lazy kisses, wrapped up in each other and the moment. Jaime didn’t know about Brienne, but he had never felt like this before, either before or after sex. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this way, no matter how many times he had written about it. His entire life, for as long as he could remember, he had felt as if he had a hole somewhere inside him, a quiet place that was waiting for something to come along and fill it. He had tried to fill it with the approval of his family, and he had tried to fill it with the law and then with writing, and it had remained stubbornly resistant throughout everything.

But here, holding Brienne, being held by Brienne, he felt whole, like all the slightly off-center pieces of his life had slid back into place. He buried his face further into her neck, breathing in the warm scent of her skin, and nuzzled her with his nose. He couldn’t believe they were finally here, that after all those hours spent wanting and dreaming, she was really in his arms. Love for her swamped him, overwhelming him to the point that he had to grit his teeth against the urge to tell her how much she meant to him. There would be time for that later, he knew. He wasn’t like Ser Jaime. He wouldn’t keep his heart and intentions locked away from the woman he loved. More than anyone, perhaps, he understood the value of words.

“Jaime,” Brienne said finally, tugging on his hair. “This is lovely, but I need to go to the bathroom. And my ass is going numb.”

“Okay,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her throat before looking up at her. Her eyes were warm on his, big and blue and impossibly lovely. He searched them for any trace of regret, any embarrassment or awkwardness, but it was just Brienne, smiling back at him. She looked completely at ease, her eyes bright, her skin flushed. She looked _happy_ , thought, as if holding him was the best thing that had ever happened to her too.

She lifted her hands to cup his jaw, sliding over his beard with a little smile, and he carefully raised his left hand to her wrist, stroking against the bone there, his eyes steady on hers. “Stay here,” he told her. “Stay with me.” He saw her eyes darken a little at the memory, but there was no flash of pain this time. Not anymore. “Please,” he sighed. “Stay.”

Brienne watched him, swallowing against the swell of emotion he knew she felt. He wanted her to say yes for them, for the happiness they could find in _this_ lifetime, but he couldn’t deny that it also felt like saying yes for Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne, like by taking their first chance they were giving the knights a second one. “I’ll stay,” Brienne whispered, and then she leaned forward, taking his mouth in a slow, soft, sweet kiss full of promise.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here in my arms,” he said when she drew away. “After all the time I spent waiting.”

“Jaime,” she laughed, smiling at him a little. “It’s only been two months.”

“No,” he said, his voice sure and steady. “Brienne, it’s been lifetimes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it! My first exchange participation, and it has definitely been a ride.
> 
> Mare9548, I hope you've enjoyed your story. Thank you so much for the amazing prompt, and for being so encouraging and sweet in the comments of every chapter. Each one has given me a huge smile.
> 
> Thank you also to the people who listened to me complain and whine about this story when it wasn't going smoothly, especially to the two that were nice enough to tackle the first chapter for me, and help me wrap my head around it. I owe you both very much.


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